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American  Dramatists  Series 


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Slexanber  Wi. 


THE  GIRL  IN  THE  PICTURE 


American  Dramatists  Series 

THE  GIRL 
IN  THE  PICTURE 

A  Play  in  Two  Acts 
ALEXANDER  WILSON  SHAW 


BOSTON:   THE  GORHAM  PRESS 

TORONTO:  THE  COPP  CLARK  CO..  LIMITED 


Copyright  1914,  by  Alexander  Wilson  Shaw 
All  rights  reserved 


The  Garham  Press,  Boston,  U.  S.  A. 


To  my  wife 
Henrietta  Ridgway  Shaw 

this  little  book  is 
affectionately  dedicated 


on -2'?  oo  Q 


THE  GIRL  IN  THE  PICTURE 


Act  I 

Scene — Deacon  Backslap's  living-room.  George, 
son  of  the  deacon,  about  thirty  years  of  age,  good- 
looking,  well-groomed,  is  seated  in  a  reclining  chair, 
alone. 

Time — About  five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon. 

GEORGE — I  wonder  what  mother  will  say  if 
she  finds  it  out?  Dashed  if  I  would  have  thought 
it  possible !  What  in  the  world  could  have  struck 
dad,  anyway?  Think  of  it:  A  deacon  in  the 
church!  President  of  the  Lily-white  Society  for 
the  Suppression  of  Sin!  A  man  who  has  been 
preaching  and  leading  crusades  against  vice  for 
months  until  the  papers  are  full  of  it!  Think  of 
it!  Think  of  a  man  like  that  coming  home  in  a 
cab — dead  drunk!  And  in  broad  day-light!  I'd 
give  a  dollar  to  know  where  he  got  it.  It's  a 
lucky  thing  that  I  answered  the  bell.  If  mother's 
new  maid  had  gone  to  the  door,  it  would  have 
been  all  over  the  town  by  this  time.  As  it  was,  I 
had  to  carry  him  up  to  bed.  I  don't  think  anyone 
knows  anything  about  it  except  the  cabby.  Let's 
see,  (consulting  his  watch)  he's  been  in  bed  now 
about  six  hours.  I  hope  he  sleeps  it  off  before 
mother  comes  home.  If  he  doesn't — woof! — I 
can  see  a  few  shattered  idols  around  here!  But 
it  certainly  is  odd  how  things  happen  at  the  wrong 
5 


6          THE  GIRL  IN  THE  PICTURE 

time.  Here  I've  invited  my  fiancee  and  her 
mother  to  take  dinner  with  us  to-night  for  the 
express  purpose  of  having  them  meet  my  parents, 
— and  dad's  in  bed,  drunk !  In  the  name  of  heaven 
if  he  wanted  to  get  drunk,  why  couldn't  he  have 
done  it  after  seeing  them?  Er — that  isn't  ex- 
actly what  I  wanted  to  say,  is  it?  At  any  rate, 
here  I'd  banked  on  this  being  a  gala  day!  And 
Inez  has  been  asking  me  so  much  about  my 
parents  and  seemed  so  anxious  to  meet  them, — 
she  hasn't  so  much  as  laid  eyes  on  either  of  them. 
And  I've  been  praising  dad's  piety  to  the  skies! 
Well,  if  the  worst  comes  to  the  worst,  I  suppose 
I  can  keep  dad  in  his  room  and  say  that  he  isn't 
feeling  well.  But  Inez  and  her  mother  may  take 
that  for  a  frost.  Well,  I  suppose  I'll  have  to 
make  the  best  of  it.  After  all,  dad  may  be  in 
shape  by  the  time  they  arrive,  who  knows? 

(Enter,  from  the  rear,  Angelina,  the  servant,  an 
old  Dutch  woman,  thin  of  face  and  body,  with  scant 
hair  and  long  neck.) 

ANGELINA — Ach,  eggscuse  me ! 

GEORGE — (looking  around)  Eh? 

ANGELINA — Eggscuse  me.  I  thought  I  heard 
talkings,  and  I  thought  she  vas  downstairs. 

GEORGE — Who  ?  Mother  ?  Mother  hasn't 
come  home  yet. 

ANGELINA — Ach,  no,  no,  not  your  mudder — 
your  vatter. 

GEORGE — Oh,  father's  not  feeling  well,  he's 
upstairs. 

ANGELINA — Yes,  yes,  I  know,  I  saw  her  come 


ACT  I  7 

in.  Ach  yes,  I  know.  My  husband  used  to  get 
that  way.  Yes,  yes,  it's  too  bad — and  she's  such 
a  nice  man,  too, — yes,  she's  such  a  nice  man! 
And  vat  vill  her  vife  say?  She  has  such  a  nice 
vife !  And  she  got  along  so  good  with  her  vife, — 
yes,  she  got  along  so  good  with  her  vife. 

GEORGE — "She  got  along  so  good  with  her 

vife?"  What  in  the  thunder ?  (laughing) 

Say,  what's  it  all  about? 

ANGELINA — Ach,  I  know  about  it.  Yes,  yes, — 
I  saw  you  carry  her  upstairs. 

GEORGE — Saw  me  cany  her  upstairs? 

ANGELINA — Ach,  yes,  I  saw  her.  Yes,  yes,  I 
saw  her.  But  I  keep  my  mouth  shut. 

GEORGE — In  the  name  of  heaven,  woman, ! 

ANGELINA — Ach,  I  not  say  nuddings, — for 
she's  such  a  nice  man,  and  she  has  such  a  nice  vife. 

GEORGE — What  in  the ?  Say,  do  you  mean 

my  father? 

ANGELINA — Yes,  yes,  your  vatter.  I  saw  her 
come  home.  But  that's  nuddings.  She  just  had 
too  much  beer.  That's  nuddings, — my  husband 
used  to  come  home  that  way, — yes,  yes,  every 
night  she  vas  that  way;  and  she  vas  such  a  nice 
man,  too;  yes,  yes,  she  vas  such  a  nice  man.  But 
it  didn't  hurt  her,  no,  the  beer  didn't  hurt  her. 
Ach,  yes,  she  died.  Till  to-morrow  it  vill  be  ten 
years.  But  the  beer  didn't  kill  her, — she — she 
swallowed  a  cork.  Ach,  yes,  she'd  been  drinking, 
— yes,  yes,  she'd  been  drinking, — but  it  vas  the 
cork  killed  her.  And  she  vas  such  a  nice  man, 
ach,  she  vas  such  a  nice  man ! 

GEORGE — (mocking)  "Ach,  she  vas  such  a  nice 
man, " — not  another  word,  woman ! 


8  THE  GIRL  IN  THE  PICTURE 

ANGELINA — Here's  somedings  she  dropped  in 
the  hall  when  you  vas  carrying  her  upstairs. 
(Holds  out  kodak?) 

GEORGE — (taking  kodak]  Oh,  that's  dad's 
camera.  Thank  you. 

(George  puts  the  kodak  on  the  table.  At  this 
moment  the  bells  rings.} 

GEORGE — There,  that's  probably  mother,  now, 
and — er — (as  the  servant  starts  to  answer  the  bell) 
not  a  word  to  mother  about  father,  do  you  hear? 
— not  a  word,  do  you  understand? 

ANGELINA — Ach,  yes,  I  vouldn't  tell  her  vife, 
no,  no,  I'll  not  tell  her  vife,— not  me. 

(Exit  servant.  Enter  Mrs.  Backslap,  a  plain, 
fussy,  middle-aged,  managing  woman.) 

GEORGE — Hello,  mother,  where've  you  been 
so  long? 

MRS.  BACKSLAP — (sitting  down)  Oh,  I've  been 
gadding  about.  I  promised  to  meet  your  father 
at  Mr.  Paynter's  studio,  but  I  was  a  little  late, 
and  when  I  arrived  he  had  gone;  and  then  I  fell 
in  with  some  club  women  and  they  took  me  out 
to  lunch,  and  I've  been  shopping  and  making  calls 
ever  since.  By  the  way,  has  your  father  come 
home? 

GEORGE — Oh,  yes,  he  came  home  some  time  ago. 

MRS.  BACKSLAP — Where  is  he,  upstairs? 

GEORGE — I  think  so. 

MRS.  BACKSLAP — (rising)     I'll  go  up,  then.     I 


ACT  I  9 

want  to  see  him  a  moment.  (Starts  toward  side 
exit.) 

GEORGE — Er — mother ! 

MRS.  BACKSLAP — (pausing)     Yes? 

GEORGE — I  wouldn't — er — disturb  him  just 
now.  He's  lying  down,  I  think. 

MRS.  BACKSLAP — Lying  down?  He  isn't  sick, 
is  he? 

GEORGE — Oh,  no, — er — not  really  sick,  just 
a — a — headache.  He'll  be  down  in  a  little  while. 
I  wouldn't  disturb  him  just  yet  if  I  were  you. 

MRS.  BACKSLAP — You're  sure  he's  not  really 
sick? 

GEORGE — Oh,  no,  he's  not  sick. 

MRS.  BACKSLAP — Very  well,  I  won't  disturb 
him.  But — er — really,  you  surprise  me,  I  never 
knew  you  to  have  so  much  consideration  for  your 
father  before. 

GEORGE — (smiling)  Well, — er — you  see,  Inez 
and  her  mother  are  coming  to  dinner,  you  know, 
and  I — er — suppose  I  wanted  everything  to  be 
real  nice,  myself  included. 

MRS.  BACKSLAP — (smiling)  So  you're  prac- 
tising, eh?  Well,  it  won't  do  you  any  harm. 
But  you'd  better  be  running  along  if  you're  going 
to  dress  for  dinner. 

GEORGE — I  suppose  I'd  better, — and — a — 
mother, — you're  going  to  like  Inez,  aren't  you? 

MRS.  BACKSLAP — Why,  of  course  I  am,  George. 
If  she's  only  half  as  nice  as  you  say  she  is,  I  know 
I  shall  like  her. 

(Mrs.  Backslap  removes  her  hat  and  goes  to  the 


10        THE  GIRL  IN  THE  PICTURE 

hat-rack  in  the  hall,  visible  through  the  door-way 
at  the  rear,  to  hang  it  up.) 

GEORGE — (consulting  his  watch)  (aside)  It's 
a  little  early  to  dress,  but  I  think  I'll  see  how  dad's 
coining  on. 

(Exit  George.) 

MRS.  BACKSLAP — (re-entering  the  room  from  the 
hall,  sits  down  near  the  table  and  picks  up  the 
kodak)  I  wonder  if  the  film  has  all  been  used? 
Josiah's  certainly  got  the  craze  and  got  it  badly. 
He  simply  keeps  me  busy  developing  pictures  for 
him.  (Examines  the  camera.)  Yes,  as  I  thought, 
all  of  the  film  has  been  used.  And  I  suppose  it 
is  now  up  to  me  to  develop  it.  He's  just  like  a 
child  with  a  new  toy.  After  he  takes  a  picture 
he  can  hardly  wait  until  it's  developed  and  printed. 
But  he's  just  like  all  the  men, — he  doesn't  mind 
snapping  the  camera,  but  when  it  comes  to  the 
real  work,  well,  I  do  all  of  that.  Josiah  never 
could  learn  to  develop  pictures.  I  wonder  if  I 
really  ought  to  bother  with  this  before  dinner? — 
I  believe  I  will,  it  won't  take  long  and  it  may  be 
a  pleasant  little  surprise  for  Josiah.  He  might 
like  to  show  the  pictures  to  Mrs.  Blair  and  her 
daughter.  I'll  see  what  I  can  do  with  them, 
anyway.  (Here  Mrs.  Backslap  takes  the  film 
from  the  camera,  and,  going  to  the  rear  of  the  room, 
toward  one  side,  where  there  is  a  shelf  containing 
bottles,  and  a  small  table  on  which  there  are  develop- 
ing trays  and  a  kodak  developing-machine,  inserts 
the  film  in  the  machine,  pours  in  the  developing 


ACT  I  11 

solution  from  one  of  the  bottles,  puts  the  lid  on  the 
machine  and  turns  the  crank  slowly.)  I  wonder 
what  kind  of  pictures  Josiah  took  this  morning? 
Lately  he  has  been  taking  nothing  but  churches. 
I  believe  he  has  a  picture  of  every  church  in  the 
town  by  this  time.  (Pours  water  in  one  tray  and 
fixing  solution  in  another  tray.  Takes  film  from 
the  machine  and  washes  it  in  the  water,  then  passes 
it  through  the  fixing  solution,  and  again  washes  it 
in  the  water,  changing  the  water  several  times,  then 
holds  the  film  up  to  the  light  and  takes  a  hurried 
glance  at  it.)  Ah,  just  as  I  thought, — more 
churches!  I  didn't  think  there  were  any  in  the 
town  that  he  hadn't  already  taken.  If  there 
ever  was  a  pious  man!  (Bell  rings.)  I  wonder 
who  that  can  be?  It's  hardly  time  for  Mrs.  Blair 
and  her  daughter.  Well,  this  is  done  anyway, — 
thank  goodness — and  I'll  hang  it  up  to  dry. 
(Hangs  film  up  by  clips  to  dry  against  the  wall.) 

(Enter  Angelina.) 

ANGELINA — Some  womens  to  see  you,  Mrs. 
Slapback. 

MRS.  BACKSLAP — Slapback  indeed !  My  name, 
Angelina,  is  Backslap,  Backslap!  Do  you  hear? 
Back-slap. 

ANGELINA — Ach,  yes,  your  Back's  in  front. 
Say  not? 

MRS.  BACKSLAP — My  back's  where? — But  who 
are  the  ladies,  Angelina? 

ANGELINA — They  didn't  tell  me  their  names, 
but  they  said  they  vas  members  of  some  sinful 
society. 


12       THE  GIRL  IN  THE  PICTURE 

MRS.  BACKSLAP — Some  sinful  society? 

ANGELINA — Yes,  yes,  I  vouldn't  have  thought 
it,  and  they  said  you  vould  know  them  because 
you  vas  a  member,  too. 

MRS.  BACKSLAP — (laughing)  Oh,  I  suppose 
they  are  members  of  the  Lily-white  Society  for 
the  Suppression  of  Sin.  Show  them  right  in, 
Angelina. 

(Exit  servant.  Enter  four  middle-aged,  sour, 
sharp-visaged  women,  members  of  the  society  above 
named.) 

MRS.  BACKSLAP — Oh,  how  do  you  do,  ladies, 
I'm  awfully  glad  to  see  you.  (Shakes  hands  with 
them.)  Won't  you  sit  down? 

(The  ladies  take  seats.) 

MRS.  BROWN — We  just  dropped  in  for  a  few 
minutes  to  tell  you  how  we  were  getting  along. 
The  Committee  is  all  here,  and  we  thought  we'd 
make  a  report,  as  it  were,  and  you  could  tell  the 
deacon  about  it. 

MRS.  BACKSLAP — Good.  What  kind  of  a 
crusade  did  you  wage  to-day? 

MRS.  GREEN — An  anti-indecent  poster  crusade. 
It  is  just  too  outrageous  for  anything  the  way 
some  things  are  being  advertised,  particularly 
shows  at  the  theatre.  Some  of  the  posters  are 
positively  shocking. 

MRS.  BLACK — We've  got  the  names  of  a  hundred 
people  who  are  displaying  indecent  posters  on 
their  walls,  and  your  husband  can  hand  them  in  to 


ACT  I  13 

the  mayor,  who  will  probably  pay  more  attention 
to  him  than  to  us,  judging  by  the  way  we  were 
treated  to-day  everywhere  we  entered  a  complaint. 
It  was  positively  maddening  the  way  we  were 
treated, — why  the  people  just  laughed  at  us. 
They  seemed  to  think  it  a  joke.  But  just  wait, — 
the  Lily-white  Society  for  the  Suppression  of 
Sin  will  show  them  a  thing  or  two!  Mrs.  Brown, 
tell  Mrs.  Backslap  how  you  were  treated  at  the 
Star  Theatre. 

MRS.  BROWN — Oh,  Mrs.  Backslap,  I  could 
have  chewed  that  man's  head  off!  I'll  tell  you 
how  it  was:  We  found  one  of  the  most  indecent 
posters  of  all  on  the  bill-board  in  front  of  the  Star 
Theatre, — a  picture  of  a  woman — a  dancer — in 
decidedly  scant  attire — oh,  it  was  dreadful !  Well, 
I  went  in  and  told  the  man  in  the  box-office  just 
what  I  thought  of  it,  and  he  smiled  and  said  he 
was  sorry  if  I  didn't  like  the  clothes  the  lady  had 
on, — think  of  it,  what  she  had  on ! — and  he  handed 
me  a  pot  of  blue  paint,  and  said  I  might  alter  the 
lady's  apparel  if  I  chose.  Well,  I  just  jumped  at 
the  chance,  and  I  took  the  paint  and  started  in 
to  put  a  skirt  on  the  picture  of  that  brazen  hussy, 
and  by  the  time  I  had  finished,  there  was  a  crowd 
of  a  thousand  people  around  me.  And  when  I 
returned  the  paint,  what  do  you  think  that  in- 
sulting ticket-seller  said  to  me? 

MRS.  BACKSLAP — What  did  he  say? 

MRS.  BROWN — He  said,  "  Madam,  you  did  very 
well.  You  certainly  made  a  hit.  Come  around 
every  afternoon  and  do  your  little  stunt  and  we'll 
put  you  on  a  salary.  We're  in  the  amusement 


14        THE  GIRL  IX  THE  PICTURE 

business,  you  know."  And  I  was  that  mad,  I 
could  have  smacked  him  in  the  face! 

MRS.  BACKSLAP — The  impudent  thing!  My 
husband  will  settle  him. 

MRS.  GREEN — That's  just  what  I  was  telling 
the  ladies.  It  takes  a  real  good  man.  like  the 
deacon,  to  handle  people  of  that  sort.  And  what 
a  good,  good  man  your  husband  is ! 

MRS.  BACKSLAP— Josiah  is  a  dear,  good  man. 
Why  his  soul  fairly  writhes  when  he  passes  one  of 
those  theatrical  posters  on  the  street. 

MRS.  BLACK — I  passed  him  early  this  morning — 
and  he  surely  is  a  good  man — he  was  taking  a 
picture  of  St.  John's  Church  with  his  kodak. 

MRS.  BACKSLAP — He  seems  to  have  a  craze  for 
taking  churches.  By  the  way.  I  have  just  de- 
veloped the  pictures  he  took  this  morning. 
Would  you  like  to  see  them? 

MRS.  BLACK,  BROWN*,  GREEN  AND  GRAY — 
(in  chorus)  Oh,  yes  indeed! 

MRS.  BACKSLAP — I  haven't  printed  them  yet, 
but  I'll  make  use  of  a  contrivance  of  my  husband's 
for  showing  the  pictures,  much  enlarged,  on  a 
screen,  using  the  film  only.  The  deacon  is  quite 
an  inventor  in  his  way,  he  made  the  apparatus 
himself.  I'll  show  you  how  it  works. 

(Mrs.  Back-slap  drags  from  a  closet  a  wooden 
frame  about  8  feet  high  by  6  feet  wide,  covered  icith 
white  canras  and  mounted  on  feet,  so  that  it  can  stand 
erect.  This  screen  she  places  tou-ard  the  back  of  the 
room  and  to  the  left  of  the  middle.  Then  she  brings 
from  the  closet  what  looks  like  a  magic-lantern, 
mounted  on  a  stand  about  4  feet  in  height,  and  places 


ACT  I  15 

this  about  15  feet  away  from  the  screen  and  nearly 
in  front  of  it.  Then  she  gets  the  film  from  the  wall 
where  it  had  been  hung  to  dry.) 

MRS.  BACKSLAP — (holding  up  the  film)  Now, 
ladies,  this  is  the  film.  All  I  have  to  do  is  to  in- 
sert it  in  the  machine,  which  is  just  like  a  magic- 
lantern,  (inserts  the  film)  so,  and  press  a  little 
button  which  turns  on  the  light,  so,  and  there  you 
have  the  first  picture, — St.  John's  Church. 

MBS.  BROWN — Oh,  isn't  that  too  clever  for 
anything ! 

MRS.  BACKSLAP — Now,  all  I  have  to  do  is  to 
turn  a  crank,  and  there  we  have  the  next  picture, 
— St.  Timothy's  Church. 

MRS.  GREEN — Isn't  that  nice! 

MRS.  BACKSLAP — (turning  the  crank  again) 
The  next  picture  is, — the  Church  of  the  Good 
Shepherd. 

MRS.  GRAY — It  just  goes  to  show  what  a  good, 
good  man  the  deacon  is. 

MRS.  BLACK — Indeed  it  does. 

MRS.  BACKSLAP — (turning  crank)  The  fourth 
picture  is, — the  Church  of  St.  Anthony. 

MRS.  BROWN — Doesn't  it  look  natural? 

MRS.  BACKSLAP — (turning  crank)  The  fifth 
picture  is, — the  Synagogue  of  Israel. 

MRS.  GREEN — Do  you  know,  I  believe  a  man's 
character  can  be  told  by  the  pictures  he  takes? 

MRS.  GRAY — Oh,  undoubtedly.  It  is  certainly 
proved  in  this  case.  What  a  good,  good  man  Mr. 
Backslap  is.  Everything  he  does  shows  it. 

MRS.  BROWN — He's  one  man  in  a  million.  Oh, 
what  a  good,  good  man  he  is ! 


16       THE  GIRL  IN  THE  PICTURE 

MBS.  BACKSLAP — (turning  crank)  The  sixth, 
and  last,  picture,  ladies,  is, — For  heaven's  sake! 

(Mrs.  Backslap  screams  and  staggers  back,  for  the 
'picture  thrown  on  the  screen  is  the  full  length  photo- 
graph of  a  beautiful  young  woman,  whose  superb 
figure  is  almost  without  raiment,  being  very  scantily 
draped.  Mrs.  Brown,  Green,  Black  and  Gray  leap 
to  their  feet  and  scream  also.) 

MRS.  BACKSLAP — Can  I  believe  my  eyes?  Is 
that  the  photograph  of  a  woman?  Or  am  I 
dreaming?  Tell  me,  am  I  dreaming? 

MRS.  BLACK — I'm  afraid  not,  Mrs.  Backslap. 

MRS.  BACKSLAP — Oh,  it's  a  woman,  it  surely 
is!  And  her  dress,  tell  me,  how  is  she  dressed? 

MRS.  GREEN — There  isn't  much  to  describe. 

MRS.  BACKSLAP — Then  I  am  awake!  Oh,  there 
must  be  some  mistake ! 

MRS.  BLACK,  GREEN  AND  GRAY — There  surely 
must!  There  surely  must! 

MRS.  BROWN — Examine  the  film,  Mrs.  Backslap. 
Are  you  sure  it's  on  the  film? 

MRS.  BACKSLAP — I  can  tell  that  in  a  minute. 
(Takes  film  out  of  the  magic-lantern,  turns  off  the 
light,  and,  holding  film  up,  studies  it  a  moment.) 
Yes,  it's  on  the  film,  there's  no  doubt  about  it. 

MRS.  GREEN — Are  you  sure  it  came  from  your 
husband's  camera? 

MRS.  BACKSLAP — I  took  it  out  with  my  own 
hands  not  a  hah*  hour  ago  and  developed  it  im- 
mediately. But  to  make  sure,  I'll  look  at  the 
camera.  (Examines  the  camera)  It's  only  too 
true,  it's  my  husband's  camera,  here  are  his  initials 


ACT  I  17 

on  the  bottom.  (There  is  a  significant  silence  for 
a  moment,  during  which  Mrs.  Backslap' s  face  be- 
comes set  and  harsh.}  Oh,  Josiah!  Who  would 
have  thought  you  so  base!  Oh,  you  deceiver! 

MBS.  GRAY — -Oh,  Mrs.  Backslap!  I  am  shocked, 
shocked  beyond  words! 

MRS.  BROWN — Can  it  be  possible  that  all  men 
are  alike? 

MRS.  GREEN — Do  you  know  I  never  would 
have  thought  it!  He's  the  last  man  on  earth  I 
would  have  accused  of  leading  a  double  life. 

MRS.  BLACK — And  to  think  how  he  has  been 
preaching  against  vice  all  of  this  time!  Oh,  Mrs. 
Backslap,  what  poor,  confiding  things  we  women 
are! 

MRS.  GREEN — Bring  the  film  over  to  the  win- 
dow, Mrs.  Backslap,  and  let  us  get  a  good  look  at 
the  hussy, — she's  no  doubt  a  creature  of  the  under- 
world! 

MRS.  GRAY,  BLACK  AND  BROWN — Oh,  without 
doubt! 

(The  five  women  go  over  to  the  window  to  examine 
the  film.  Enter  Deacon  Backslap,  mournfully, 
with  a  handkerchief  tied  around  his  head.  The 
deacon  is  a  man  of  about  fifty-five  years,  tall, 
slender,  with  a  pale,  thin,  sanctimonious  face, 
gray  goatee,  and  fringe  of  gray  hair  encircling  a 
large  bald  spot,  and  in  dress  resembles  a  minister. 
He  does  not  notice  the  women  by  the  window,  and 
they  do  not  notice  him.) 

DEACON     BACKSLAP — (mournfully)    Oh,    this 


18       THE  GIRL  IN  THE  PICTURE 

head!  this  head!    It  feels  like  a  fat  whale.     And 
ache — ! 

MRS.  GREEN — Oh,  the  monster,  there  he  is! 

(The  five  women  scream.  The  deacon  starts,  and, 
seeing  the  women,  looks  guilty  and  backs  away  from 
them.) 

MRS.  BACKSLAP — Oh,  you  hypocrite! 

MRS.  BROWN — Oh,  you  dreadful  man,  go 
away !  go  away ! 

MRS.  GRAY — You  villain,  how  dare  you  face 
us? 

MRS.  BLACK — Oh,  you  scoundrel,  go  away,  go 
away! 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — (aside)  In  the  name  of 
Jehovah!  Did  they  all  see  me  come  home? 
What  an  old  fool  I  am!  What  can  I  possibly  say? 
(addressing  his  wife)  What  in  the  world  is  the 
matter,  dear?  Really,  you  mustn't  blame  me, 
you  see 

MRS.  BACKSLAP — Silence  sir!  How  dare  you 
offer  an  excuse?  You  old  double-faced  scoundrel! 
You  hypocrite!  Leave  him  to  me,  ladies,  leave 
us  alone  for  a  moment,  so  that  I  can  tell  him  what 
I  think  of  him! 

(Exit  the  Crusaders,  muttering  expressions  such 
as,  "Give  it  to  him  good."  "Don't  spare  him,  the 
vittain,"  etc.) 

MRS.  BACKSLAP — (glaring  at  her  husband  with 
the  film  clutched  in  her  hand)  Now,  Josiah  Back- 
slap,  what  have  you  got  to  say  for  yourself? 


ACT  I  19 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — (weakly)  Now,  my  dear 

MRS.  BACKSLAP — Silence,  sir!  Silence!  How 
dare  you  say  one  word  to  me !  You  infidel !  You 
libertine! 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — Infidel?     Libertine? 

MRS.  BACKSLAP — Silence!  And  I  trusted  you 
all  of  these  years !  And  I  thought  you  one  of  the 
best  of  men, — fool  that  I  was!  And  what  do  I 
find  to-day?  I  find  you  the  contemptible  cur 
that  you  are! — a  shameful,  base  deceiver! 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — In  the  name  of  Jehovah, 
my  dear, ! 

MRS.  BACKSLAP — Don't  you  call  me  "dear!" 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — In  the  name  of  Jehovah, 
Mirandy ! 

MRS.  BACKSLAP — Don't  you  dare  call  me 
"Mirandy!" 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — But — er — Mrs.  Backslap — 

MRS.  BACKSLAP — How  dare  you  call  me  Mrs. 
Backslap !  I'm  ashamed  of  the  name. 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — (wheedling)  Oh,  come, 
come,  now,  don't  go  on  so  about  it, — don't  make 
such  a  fuss.  You  see, — er — of  course  I  was 
wrong — er — weak,  if  you  like,  but — er — it  wasn't 
intentional.  I  was  just — er — persuaded  to  join 
in  with — er — well,  a  rather  merry  group  of — er — 
acquaintances,  and — er — before  I  knew  it — I — • 
er — well,  really — after  all,  what  I  did — er — 
thousands  of  men  do  every  day — and — it  is  such 
a  little  thing,  you  know,  such  a  little  thing  to 
make  a  fuss  about! 

MRS.  BACKSLAP — (fairly  screaming)  You  mon- 
ster! You  perverted  degenerate!  It  was  a  little 
thing,  was  it? — You,  a  married  man!  You,  a 


20       THE  GIRL  IN  THE  PICTURE 

gray -haired  father!  A  deacon  in  the  church! 
It  was  a  little  thing,  was  it?  You  lascivious 
wretch! 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — (astonished)  Lascivious 
wretch? 

MRS.  BACKSLAP — Yes,  and  worse!  I  have  the 
proof  right  here.  (Shakes  the  film  under  the  dea- 
con s  nose.)  I  suppose  you  won't  deny  that  this 
is  your  film — a  film  which  I  took  from  your  camera 
and  developed  myself?  Answer  me  a  few  ques- 
tions, please.  What  pictures  did  you  take  this 
morning? 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — Pictures?  What  have  they 
to  do  with  it? 

MRS.  BACKSLAP — (stamping  her  foot)  Answer 
me,  I  say! 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — Why,  I  took — er — let  me 
see — the  Church  of  St.  John,  St.  Timothy's 
Church, — er — the  Church  of  the  Good  Shepherd, 
— er — St.  Anthony's  Church,  and, — er — the  Syna- 
gogue of  Israel. 

MRS.  BACKSLAP — Exactly.  There's  no  doubt 
about  this  film  being  yours !  Now  I'll  show  it  to 
you.  (Inserts  the  film  in  the  magic-lantern  and 
shows  the  pictures  of  the  five  churches  rapidly.) 
Now,  Josiah  Backslap,  those  are  the  first  five 
pictures  that  you  took.  What  is  the  subject  of 
the  sixth  one? 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — (scratching  his  head)  I — 
er — can't  remember  taking  any  other. 

MRS.  BACKSLAP — (sarcastically)  No,  I  suppose 
not!  Let  me  refresh  your  memory.  (Flashes  the 
sixth  picture  on  the  screen)  There  it  is! 


ACT  I  21 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — (throwing  up  his  hands] 
In  the  name  of  the  Lord! 

(The  deacon  staggers  back  and  nearly  faints,} 

MRS.  BACKSLAP — (sarcastically)  It  was  a  very 
little  thing  to  get  a  creature  of  the  under-world  to 
pose  for  you  like  that,  (pointing  to  the  picture) 
wasn't  it?  A  very  little  thing,  indeed! 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — (aside)  Great  God! 
Could  it  be  possible  that  when  I  was  drunk — 
(aloud)  Oh,  there  must  be  some  mistake! 

MRS.  BACKSLAP — No,  there  is  no  mistake! 
You  have  been  leading  a  double  life !  (Bursts  into 
tears  and  strides  toward  rear  door)  Oh,  you  de- 
ceitful, loathsome  thing!  You  villainous  wretch! 
I'll  get  a  divorce!  I'll  get  a  divorce! 

(Mrs.  Backslap  rushes  from  the  room,  crying.) 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — (in  despair)  In  the  name 
of  the  seven  devils!  Was  ever  a  man  in  a  pickle 
like  this?  And  I'm  the  President  of  the  Lily- 
white  Society  for  the  Suppression  of  Sin !  And  a 
leader  of  crusades  against  vice!  Good  Lord! — 
Oh,  my  head,  my  head ! — I  thought  getting  drunk 
was  bad  enough,  but  this  is  worse,  infinitely  worse ! 
Where  could  I  have  been?  I  remember  going  to 
Mr.  Paynter's  studio  this  morning  to  arrange  to 
have  Mirandy's  portrait  painted,  and  while  I  was 
there  I  met  some  people  who  invited  me  to  join 
them  in  a  glass  of  wine,  and  they  insisted  and 
pestered  me  until  I  just  had  to  take  it  to  be 
sociable.  And  then  nothing  would  do  but  I  must 


22       THE  GIRL  IN  THE  PICTURE 

take  another.  And  then  things  began  to  get 
hazy,  and  after  that — it's  all  a  blank,  all  a  blank. 
But  where  did  I  get  the  picture  of  that  woman? 
I  had  my  kodak  with  me,  I  know,  for  I  had  been 
taking  pictures  earlier  in  the  morning,  but  I  don't 
remember  taking  the  picture  of  any  woman.  But 
where  did  I  go  after  leaving  the  studio?  Let  me 
think,  (scratches  his  head)  It's  no  use,  it's  no 
use,  I  can't  remember.  Could  it  be  possible  that 
I  went  elsewhere  and  met — —  ?  No,  no,  I  can't 
believe  it !  But  there's  no  telling  what  a  man  will 
do  when  he's  drunk.  But  let  me  see, — wasn't 
there  some  women  in  the  studio?  Ha,  ha,  by 
George  there  were!  And  it  seems  to  me  that 
one  of  them  was  making  love  to  me,  or  was  I 
making  love  to  her?  What  an  old  fool  I  am! 
Could  it  be  possible  that  it  was  one  of  those 

women  whose  picture ?     Oh,  Lord!     And  I'm 

at  the  head  of  the  Lily-white  Society  for  the  Sup- 
pression of  Sin !  Oh,  if  I  could  only  suppress  this ! 
But  how  can  I? — Too  many  women  know  about 
it.  And  my  wife  threatens  to  get  a  divorce! 
Oh,  Lord!  Oh,  Lord! 

(Here  the  deacon  throws  himself  in  a  chair  and 
rests  his  head  in  his  hands.  Angelina  enters,  with- 
out noticing  him,  and  stops  amazed  before  the  picture 
of  the  scantily  draped  woman  on  the  screen.) 

ANGELINA — (holding  up  her  hands  in  astonish- 
ment) Ach,  my!  I  didn't  see  that  ven  I  vas 
in  here  before!  And  I  didn't  see  anybody  bring 
it  in!  No,  no,  I  didn't!  I  did  not!  How  did 
it  get  here?  (Deacon  Backslap  turns  his  head  to 


ACT  I  23 

see  who  is  talking  and  Angelina  sees  him)     Ach, 
eggscuse  me! 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — Heavens ! 

(The  deacon  leaps  up  and  turns  off  the  light  of  the 
magic-lantern  and  the  picture  vanishes.} 

ANGELINA — Ach,  it's  a  magic-lantern  picture! 
Yes,  yes,  that's  vat  it  is!  Ach,  I  like  magic- 
lanterns!  Have  you  got  any  more  pictures  like 
that  one? 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — Like  that  one?  For  good- 
ness sake,  woman,  don't  suggest  such  a  thing! 

ANGELINA — Ach,  go  ahead  and  show  them. 
You  needn't  mind  me.  I  von't  look. 

(Angelina  turns  her  back  to  the  screen  and  simpers.) 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — Oh,  this  is  too  much,  too 
much!  Out  of  my  sight,  woman! 

(The  bell  rings.) 

ANGELINA — There's  that  old  bell  again. 

(Exit  servant.) 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — If  this  isn't  the  irony  of 
Fate!  Here  I  am,  a  man  who  never  touched 
liquor  before.  I  take  a  little  for  the  first  time, 
and  then,  like  a  fool,  I  go  and  do  something 
positively  indecent.  Why,  men  who  get  drunk 
every  day  wouldn't  think  of  doing  such  a  thing! 
All  of  which  goes  to  show  that  if  I'd  been  used  to 


24       THE  GIRL  IN  THE  PICTURE 

getting  drunk,  I'd  not  be  in  the  pickle  I'm  in. 
Oh,  why  didn't  I  get  drunk  before?  Why  didn't 
I  get  drunk  before? 

(Exit  the  deacon,  to  the  left.  Enter  Max  Paynter, 
Bob  Scribbleton  and  Angelina,  from  the  rear.  Mr. 
Paynter  is  an  artist,  about  forty  years  old,  dark, 
entirely  bald  and  has  a  waxed  mustache;  his  friend, 
Mr.  Scribbleton,  is  much  younger,  more  handsome, 
and  has  a  joyous,  breezy  disposition.) 

SCRIBBLETON — (to  the  servant)  Don't  make  a 
mistake  now,  please,  it's  Mr.  Backslap  we  want  to 
see. 

ANGELINA — Ach,  yes,  I  know,  I  know.  She  vas 
in  here  a  minute  ago.  I'll  get  her. 

PAYNTER — No,  no,  not  Mrs.  Backslap,  Mr. 
Backslap. 

ANGELINA — Ach,  yes,  I  know,  I  know,  I'll  get 
her. 

SCRIBBLETON — Stop,  please!  We  want  to  see 
the  old  gentleman, — Mr.  Backslap. 

ANGELINA — Veil,  if  you'll  gif  me  a  chance, 
once,  I'll  go  and  tell  her.  Vat  names,  please? 

PAYNTER — (to  Scribbleton)  Oh,  this  will  never 
do!  We  don't  want  to  meet  Mrs.  Backslap  of  all 
persons!  Say  Bob,  why  not  just  inquire  about 
the  old  gentleman?  That's  all  we  came  for,  you 
know. 

SCRIBBLETON — Sure,  go  ahead.  Perhaps  the 
maid  can  tell  us. 

PAYNTER — That's  what  I  meant.  (Turns  to 
Angelina)  Ah,  pardon  me,  but  did  you  see  Mr. 


ACT  I  25 

Backslap   when    he   came   home   this    morning? 

ANGELINA — Yes,  yes,  ach,  yes. 

PAYNTER — Did  he  get  home — er — safe? 

ANGELINA — (smiling  broadly}  Ach,  I  think 
she's  still  living. 

PAYNTER — She's  still  living?  To  whom  are 
you  referring?  I  was  inquiring  about  the  old 
gentleman,  the  deacon.  Do  you  understand? — 
the  deacon. 

ANGELINA — Ach,  yes,  I  know,  I  know. 

SCRIBBLETON — Well,  did  he  get  home  all  right? 
Tell  us  how  he  was  when  he  got  home. 

ANGELINA — Ach,  I  don't  know  nuddings.  I 
know  when  to  shut  my  mouth. 

SCRIBBLETON — Oh,  you  do?  Then  you  must 
know  a  good  deal  more  than  most  people.  Say, 
here's  a  little  trifle  for  you,  (hands  Angelina  a 
small  coin)  perhaps  you  may  want  to  buy  a 
sticking-plaster  or  some  other  confection, — you 
see — er — the  fact  is,  we're  friends  of  the  old 
gentleman,  and  we  were  with  him  this  morning, 
and  we're  rather  anxious  to  know  what  happened 
to  him  after  we  put  him  in  the  cab.  Did  he  get 
home  all  right?  And  is  he  all  right  now,  or  is  he 
— er — sick? 

ANGELINA — (smiling  as  she  pockets  the  money) 
Ach,  yes,  she  vas  seek!  He,  he,  he!  Ach,  vat  a 
funny  sight  it  vas  ven  the  son  opened  the  door 
and  she  fell  drunk  on  the  floor, — he,  he,  he ! 

PAYNTER — She  fell  on  the  floor? 

ANGELINA — Ach,  yes,  she  came  home  drunk 
in  a  cab,  and  she  had  to  be  carried  upstairs. 

SCRIBBLETON — She?  Good  heavens,  is  Mrs. 
Backslap  a  booze-heister,  too? 


26       THE  GIRL  IN  THE  PICTURE 

PAYNTER — I   never   would    have   thought   it! 

ANGELINA — I  never,  no,  I  never ! 

SCRIBBLETON — See  here,  my  good  woman,  you 
oughtn't  to  tell  us  all  that.  We 

ANGELINA — Why,  you  asked  me,  didn't  you? 

SCRIBBLETON — No,  no,  woman 

ANGELINA — Vat  for,  then,  did  you  give  me  the 
money? 

SCRIBBLETON — We  wanted  to  know  about  the 
old  gentleman. 

ANGELINA — Veil,  vasn't  I  telling  you? 

PAYNTER — Oh,  this  is  most  exasperating! 

SCRIBBLETON — Come,  come,  my  dear  woman, 
won't  you  please  try  to  understand?  I'll  make 
it  very  simple.  Now  in  the  first  place,  you  know 
Deacon  Backslap,  don't  you? 

ANGELINA — Ach,  yes,  I  know  her  good. 

SCRIBBLETON — You  know  her?  In  heaven's 
name,  is  the  deacon  a  woman? 

ANGELINA — Ach,  no,  she's  no  woman. 

SCRIBBLETON — (exasperated)     She's  no  woman? 

ANGELINA — No,  no,  she's  such  a  nice  man,  ach, 
she's  such  a  nice  man. 

SCRIBBLETON — (throwing  up  his  hands  in  still 
greater  exasperation)  She's  such  a  nice  man? 
For  the  love  of  heaven !  Really,  I  don't  believe 
the  woman  knows  the  difference  between  a  hobble- 
skirt  and  a  pair  of  trousers! 

(The  servant  giggles  and  hides  her  face  in  her 
apron,  and  then  makes  her  escape  when  George 
Backslap,  Inez  Blair  and  her  mother  enter.  Inez 
is  a  beautiful  young  woman,  with  yellow  hair,  a 


ACT  I  27 

superb  figure  and  a  refined,  spirituelle  face.     Mrs. 
Blair  is  dignified  and  fashionable.) 

GEORGE  BLACKSLAP — Come  in  and  sit  down, 
mother's  about  here  somewhere. 

PAYNTER — (recognizing  Miss  Blair,  strides  for- 
ward) Why,  how  do  you  do,  Miss  Blair! 

Miss  BLAIR — Mr.  Paynter!  How  are  you? 
This  is  a  surprise. 

SCRIBBLETON — (coming  forward)  How  do  you 
do,  Miss  Blair. 

Miss  BLAIR — How  do  you  do.  Mother,  allow 
me  to  present  Mr.  Paynter,  the  artist,  and  Mr. — 
er — really — er — your  name  has  escaped  me. 

SCRIBBLETON — Scribbleton,  Scribbleton. 

Miss  BLAIR — Oh,  yes,  Mr.  Scribbleton. 

MRS.  BLAIR — I'm  pleased  to  meet  you. 

GEORGE — What's  the  matter,  Inez,  have  you 
forgotten  me? 

Miss  BLAIR — I  don't  understand. 

GEORGE — You  haven't  introduced  me. 

Miss  BLAIR — Oh,  don't  you  know  the  gentle- 
men? Why  George,  how  funny!  Gentlemen, 
this  is  Mr.  Backslap. 

(The  men  shake  hands.) 

GEORGE — Won't  you  sit  down? 

PAYNTER — No,  thank  you,  we're  in  a  sort  of 
hurry,  you  know. 

GEORGE — Did  you  wish  to  see  my  father? 

SCRIBBLETON — (embarrassed)  Oh,  no, — that  is 
— er — not  exactly 


28       THE  GIRL  IN  THE  PICTURE 

GEORGE — Is  there  anything  that  I  can  do  for 
you? 

SCRIBBLETON — Oh,  no,  thank  you.  We  just 
dropped  in  to — ah — well  you  see  I  just  came  along 
with  Mr.  Paynter.  Max,  tell  Mr.  Backslap  what 
you  came  for. 

PAYNTER — (embarrassed)  Why  the  idea!  It 
was  you  who  suggested  calling.  I  really  came 
with  you,  you  know. 

SCRIBBLETON — The  deuce  you  did!  Oh — ah — 
of  course — of  course.  But  it  was  on  your  account 
that  we  came, — and  then  you're  so  much  the 
better  talker!  Go  ahead  and  tell  Mr.  Backslap 
what  you  came  for. 

PAYNTER — (aside)  The  nerve  of  it!  (aloud) 
Er — you  see  we  came  to — er — er — do  you  know 
my  memory  is  getting  very  bad?  What  the  deuce 
was  it,  Bob,  we  came  for,  anyway? 

SCRIBBLETON — Why  you  wanted  to  see  about 
— er — oh,  don't  you  know? — the — er — why  the 
portrait  you're  going  to  paint  of  Mrs.  Backslap. 

PAYNTER — Oh,  of  course,  of  course!  Funny  I 
couldn't  think  of  it !  Yes,  yes,  I  wanted  to  know 
about  the — er — about  the • 

SCRIBBLETON — Costume,  costume. 

PAYNTER — Oh,  yes,  about  the  costume!  Mrs. 
Backslap  is  to  give  me  a  sitting  to-morrow,  and  I — 
er — wished  to  suggest  to  her  how  she  should  dress. 

SCRIBBLETON — (aside)  As  a  liar,  he  needn't 
envy  me! 

GEORGE — That  was  very  kind  of  you,  Mr. 
Paynter,  I'm  sure  mother  will  appreciate  it  very 
much.  She's  just  got  her  heart  set  on  that  por- 


ACT  I  29 

trait.  Suppose  you  come  along  with  us, — we're 
in  search  of  mother  ourselves. 

PAYNTER — Thank  you. 

Miss  BLAIR — Won't  you  come  too,  Mr.  Scrib- 
bleton? 

SCRIBBLETON — No,  thank  you,  I'll  just  wait 
here. 

Miss  BLAIR — Oh,  very  well. 

(Exit  Mrs.   Blair,   Inez,   George   and  Paynter.) 

SCRIBBLETON — (to  himself)  By  golly,  that  girl's 
the  perfect  image  of  a  picture  that  Max  is  painting 
for  the  Paris  Salon! — a  full  length  picture  of  a 
beautiful,  golden-haired  girl,  attired  in  a — attired 
in  a — well — with  very,  very  little  attire!  Could 
it  be  possible  that  Miss  Blair  posed  for  it? — she 
goes  to  Max's  studio  regularly.  I  wouldn't  have 
believed  it!  Still,  one  can  never  tell  how  people 
view  those  things !  That  little  girl  of  mine,  Jean- 
nette,  doesn't  think  anything  of  posing  like  that, 
and  she's  a  good  little  girl,  too.  But  it's  funny 
about  that  picture, — Max  keeps  it  covered  up.  I 
wonder  why  he  makes  a  mystery  of  it?  Could  he 
be  using  Miss  Blair  as  a  model  for  it  without 
her  knowledge?  I  wonder!  At  any  rate,  there's 
something  very,  very  strange  about  it,  for  he 
wouldn't  let  even  me  see  it.  But  you  bet  I  saw 
it  all  right!  When  Max  was  out  of  the  studio 
this  morning  I  not  only  took  a  look  at  it,  but  I 
took  a  picture  of  it  with  my  kodak,  too.  If  Max 
knew  it  he  would  have  a  fit !  But  it's  funny  about 
that  snap-shot, — when  I  developed  the  film  there 
wasn't  a  thing  on  it!  I  never  had  that  happen 


30        THE  GIRL  IN  THE  PICTURE 

to  me  before.  (Spies  the  kodak  on  the  table  and 
picks  it  up)  Hello!  The  deacon's  kodak,  I 
suppose?  Doubtless  the  one  he  had  with  him 
this  morning.  Why,  it's  exactly  like  mine! 
Heavens !  could  I  have  gotten  hold  of  the  deacon's 
camera  by  mistake  when  I  photographed  Max's 
painting?  Maybe  that's  why  my  film  was  blank! 
Holy  Murphy,  wouldn't  that  be  a  joke  on  the 
deacon!  (Laughs  and  slaps  his  leg). 

(Enter  Miss  Blair.) 

Miss  BLAIR — Oh,  pardon  me,  am  I  interrupting 
a  soliloquy? 

SCRIBBLETON — (laying  down  the  camera)  Oh, 
no,  not  at  all.  I  was  just  wondering  about  you. 

Miss  BLAIR — About  me? 

SCRIBBLETON — Yes.  I'm  a  bit  curious  about 
something.  Would  you — er — would  you  mind 
removing  your  hat? 

Miss  BLAIR — Why,  the  idea! 

SCRIBBLETON — I'm  awfully  curious,  I  know. 
Please ! 

(Miss  Blair  removes  her  hat.) 

SCRIBBLETON — There!  I  knew  it!  I  knew  it! 
The  very  girl!  Er — pardon  me,  I  was  just  veri- 
fying something.  Tell  me,  are  you — er — are  you 
an  artist's  model? 

Miss  BLAIR — An  artist's  model?  Why,  how 
dare  you! 

SCRIBBLETON — Pardon  me,  pardon  me,  I  didn't 
wish  to  offend,  but  your  face  is  so  exactly  like  a 
painting,  a — a — paint — a — I  mean — er 

Miss  BLAIR — Oh,  I  suppose  you  saw  my  por- 


ACT  I  31 

trait.  I  am  having  Mr.  Paynter  do  it  for  me  and 
I  sit  for  it  nearly  every  morning. 

SCRIBBLETON — Your  portrait? 

Miss  BLAIR — (putting  on  her  hat)  Yes,  surely, 
my  portrait. 

SCRIBBLETON — Er — would  you  mind  telling  me 
where  you  are  going  to  hang  it? 

Miss  BLAIR — Why,  mamma  said  she  would 
hang  it  in  the  parlor. 

SCRIBBLETON — Your  mother  said  so!  Well  I'll 
be !  But  then  nothing  that  society  does  sur- 
prises me  any  more!  And  why  should  it?  If 
society  can  stand  for  the  "Turkey  Trot,"  I  sup- 
pose it  can  stand  for  your  portrait. 

Miss  BLAIR — Sir !     How  dare  you ! 

SCRIBBLETON — Oh,  pardon  me,  no  offence  in- 
tended, none  intended,  I  assure  you.  But — er 
— say,  perhaps  you  and  I — perhaps  you  and  I 
are  not  talking  about  the  same  thing!  Tell  me, 
is  your  portrait — er — is  your  portrait — full  length? 

Miss  BLAIR — No,  indeed,  just  the  head  and 
shoulders. 

SCRIBBLETON — Oh,  just  the  head  and  shoulders ! 
Oh-h!  Then  I  don't  believe  I've  ever  seen  your 
portrait.  By  the  way,  I'm  awfully  sorry  about 
what  happened  to  you  in  the  studio  this  morning; 
I  had  no  idea  the  deacon  would  act  the  way  he  did. 

Miss  BLAIR — The  deacon?  Was  that  old 
drunken  reprobate  a  deacon? 

SCRIBBLETON — (surprised)  Why,  don't  you 
know  him? 

Miss  BLAIR — I  wasn't  introduced  to  him,  I'm 
thankful  to  say,  and  I'd  never  seen  him  before. 

SCRIBBLETON — Is    that    so!     (laughs)     Excuse 


32         THE  GIRL  IN  THE  PICTURE 

me,  but  it  certainly  is  funny  that  you  don't  know 
him. 

Miss  BLAIR — I  don't  see  anything  funny  about 
it.  What  was  he  doing  in  the  studio? 

SCRIBBLETON — Why,  he  came  to  see  Mr.  Payn- 
ter  about — er — about  a  portrait.  He's  a  great 
reformer,  you  know,  leads  crusades  against  vice, 
and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  and  Jeannette  and  I — 
Jeannette's  Mr.  Paynter's  model,  you  know — 
Jeannette  and  I  thought  we'd  have  a  little  fun 
with  him,  and  so  we  invited  him  to  have  some 
wine  with  us.  It  took  a  lot  of  coaxing,  but  we 
finally  induced  him  to  take  a  glass,  and  a  mighty 
strong  drink  it  was,  too,  and  after  a  little  more 
coaxing,  he  took  another,  and  by  the  time  you 
came  in,  he  was  just  beginning  to  imagine  himself 
the  King  of  the  Cannibal  Islands. 

Miss  BLAIR — When  I  came  in  he  seemed  to  be 
making  love  to  the  young  lady. 

SCRIBBLETON — (laughing)  Maybe  that  wasn't 
fun  for  Jeannette! 

Miss  BLAIR — It  may  have  been  fun  for  her,  but 
when  you  left  the  room  and  he  began  paying  atten- 
tion to  me,  it  wasn't  funny  a  bit.  Do  you  know 
what  he  did?  He  picked  up  a  photograph  of  me 
and  kissed  it  repeatedly  and  said  it  was  a  picture 
of  his  sweetheart,  and  when  I  demanded  my 
photograph,  he  put  it  in  his  pocket  and  called  me 
his  "Baby,"  and  offered  me  a  glass  of  wine.  I 
was  that  mad  I  threw  the  wine  in  his  face  and 
flounced  myself  out  of  the  studio. 

SCRIBBLETON — Jeannette  told  me  about  it 
when  I  came  back.  But  tell  me,  how  did  your 
photograph  happen  to  be  in  the  studio? 


ACT  I  33 

Miss  BLAIR — Why,  I  left  it  with  Mr.  Paynter 
to  give  him  an  idea  of  the  pose  I  wanted  for  my 
portrait. 

SCRIBBLETON — Oh,  I  see.  And,  by  the  way, 
you  didn't  get  your  photograph  back,  did  you? 

Miss  BLAIR — No,  I  didn't.  That  old  deacon, 
as  you  call  him,  walked  off  with  it. 

SCRIBBLETON — No,  he  didn't  walk  off  with  it, 
exactly,  Max  and  I  loaded  him  in  a  cab  and  sent 
him  home. 

Miss  BLAIR — How  disgraceful!  What's  his 
name,  anyhow? 

SCRIBBLETON — The  deacon's? 

Miss  BLAIR — Yes,  the  deacon's. 

SCRIBBLETON — Why— er — really,  Miss  Blair, 
I  don't  believe  I  ought  to  tell  you.  You  see — 
er — you  see 

(Enter  Deacon  Back  slap) 

Miss  BLAIR — Oh,  there  he  is!  Oh,  you  horrid 
thing ! 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — (drawing  back)  (aside) 
Great  Jehovah !  The  whole  city  knows  it! 

Miss  BLAIR — What  are  you  doing  here,  sir? 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — What  am  I  doing  here? 

Miss  BLAIR — Are  you  following  me  around? 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — (astonished)  Following 
you  around? 

Miss  BLAIR — Because  if  you  are,  George  Back- 
slap  will  knock  your  old  head  off ! 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — What!  George  will!  I'd 
like  to  see  George  Backslap  raise  his  hand  to  me! 
I'd  take  him  over  my  knee! 


34       THE  GIRL  IN  THE  PICTURE 

Miss  BLAIR — Don't  you  be  so  sure  of  that.  At 
all  events,  I  demand  to  know  what  you  are  doing 
here! 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — Here? 

Miss  BLAIR — Yes,  here, — in  this  house.  How 
did  you  get  in  and  what  is  your  business  here? 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — Well,  of  all  things ! 

SCRIBBLETON — Why,  Miss  Blair!  Is  it  really 
possible  you  don't  know  to  whom  you  are  speak- 
ing? 

Miss  BLAIR — Know  him?  Of  course  I  do. 
He's  the  man  who  insulted  me  this  morning. 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — (astonished)  Insulted  you? 
Why,  madam,  I  never  saw  you  before  in  my  life! 

Miss  BLAIR — Oh,  how  can  you  say  that! 

SCRIBBLETON — It's  all  too  evident  you  don't 
know  each  other  very  well.  Pray  allow  me  to 
introduce  you.  Miss  Blair,  this  is  Deacon 
Josiah  Backslap. 

Miss  BLAIR — (astonished)  What!  Deacon 
Josiah  Backslap?  Oh,  the  i-deal  (Laughs  mer- 
rily and  strides  forward  and  extends  her  hand)  I 
suppose  in  that  case  I  shall  have  to  forgive  you — 
for  you  see — your  son — and  I — are — er — engaged 
to  be  married. 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — (grasping  her  hand,  heart- 
ily) Oh,  then  this  is  the  Inez  my  son  has  been 
telling  me  so  much  about!  I'm  awfully  glad  to 
know  you.  And  this  gentleman,  (indicating 
Scribbleton)  I  have  a  faint  recollection  of  having 
seen  before,  but  I  can't  place  him. 

Miss  BLAIR — That's  Mr.  Scribbleton.  You 
were  talking  to  both  of  us  in  Mr.  Paynter's  studio 
this  morning. 


ACT  I  35 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — (embarrassed)  Is  it  pos- 
sible that  I  met  you  both  in  Mr.  Paynter's  studio 
this  morning,  and  then  didn't  know  either  of  you 
this  afternoon? 

SCRIBBLETON — Oh,  that's  nothing.  Nearly 
every  man  gets  in  that  condition  sometime. 

Miss  BLAIR — (laughing)  Perhaps  your  head- 
ache (the  handkerchief  is  still  around  the  deacon's 
head)  has  something  to  do  with  your  loss  of 
memory. 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — Eh?  I'm  afraid  it  has. 
I  never  had  such  a  headache  in  my  life. 

SCRIBBLETON — (poking  the  deacon  in  the  ribs) 
Oh,  you  sly  dog!  (Laughs) 

Miss  BLAIR — (nudging  the  deacon  on  the  other 
side  and  laughing  also)  Oh,  you  gay  deceiver! 

SCRIBBLETON — Isn't  it  remarkable  what  speed 
the  old  fellows  show  when  they  once  get  started? 

Miss  BLAIR — It  would  seem  so,  judging  by 
what  I  saw  this  morning  in  Mr.  Paynter's  studio. 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — Is  it  possible  that  I — er 
—did  not — er — carry  myself  properly  while  in 
the  studio? 

SCRIBBLETON — Oh,  you  carried  yourself  all 
right, — that  is,  up  to  a  certain  point, — after  that, 
/  carried  you. 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — (embarrassed)  Is  it  pos- 
sible  ! 

SCRIBBLETON — All  things  are  possible! — And 
now  I'll  leave  you  to  the  tender  mercies  of  Miss 
Blair,  and,  if  you  will  excuse  me,  I'll  hunt  up  that 
reprobate  artist  friend  of  mine.  Ta,  ta,  I'll  see 
you  later.  (As  he  goes  out  the  door,  he  pauses  and 


36       THE  GIRL  IN  THE  PICTURE 

vrinks)  Oh, — you — sly — old — dog!  (Laughs  and 
disappears.) 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — It  would  seem  from  Mr. 
Scribbleton's  remarks  and  yours,  too,  that  I  did 
something  that  I — that — er — perhaps  I  shouldn't 
have  done.  Tell  me,  is  that  so? 

Miss  BLAIR — (smiling)     I'm  afraid  it  is. 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — Ah! — Er — did  it  happen 
in  the  studio? 

Miss  BLAIR — Of  course  it  did. 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — I  was  afraid  so.  I  re- 
member that  I  was — er — persuaded  to  take  a 
little  more  wine  than  was,  perhaps,  good  for  me. 
It's  rather  an  humiliating  admission  to  make,  but 
— er — well,  you  seem  to  be  in  possession  of  the 
facts!  Well,  let's  say  I  was  intoxicated.  Now, 
then,  is  that  what  you  and  Mr.  Scribbleton  wrere 
joking  me  about? 

Miss  BLAIR — (smiling  again)     Not  altogether. 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — Not  altogether?  Then  I 
did  something  else?  Tell  me,  please,  what  it  was. 

Miss  BLAIR — As  if  you  didn't  know! 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — My  dear  Miss  Blair, 
please  tell  me!  Was  it — er — anything — anything 
concerning  a  lady? 

Miss  BLAIR — I  should  think  it  very  much  con- 
cerned a  lady. 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — You  don't  say! 

Miss  BLAIR — Now,  really,  don't  you  know,  or 
are  you  so  modest  that  you  prefer  that  others 
would  speak  of  your  conquests? 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — Conquests? 

Miss  BLAIR — (laughing)    Oh,  you  rogue ! 


ACT  I  37 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — Please,  Miss  Blair,  tell  me 
what  you  mean.  Please! 

Miss  BLAIR — I'd  rather  not,  some  one — your 
wife — might  hear  me. 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — -Oh,  Lord !  Is  it  as  bad  as 
that?  What  a  fool  a  man  can  be ! 

Miss  BLAIR — Especially  if  there's  a  woman  in 
the  picture. 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — (fairly  screaming)  What's 
that?  A  woman  in  the  picture? 

Miss  BLAIR — Yes — in  the  picture — don't  you 
understand? 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — Not  exactly — that  is — 
I'm  not  entirely  sure.  Was  I — er — mixed  up  in 
any  way  with  a  picture — a  photograph? 

Miss  BLAIR — W'ith  a  photograph?  Oh,  yes,  I 
believe  you  were.  (Laughs.) 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — Oh,  I  can't  believe  it! 

Miss  BLAIR — (smiling)  Oh,  don't  let  that 
worry  you.  I  have  a  very  forgiving  nature,  you 
know,  and,  besides,  it  doesn't  matter  so  much  now, 
because,  you  know,  I'm  to  be  one  of  the  family. 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — (scanning  Inez  intently 
for  a  moment,  then  apparently  comprehending) 
Great  heavens,  can  it  be  possible?  Your  face! 
Your  face!  Oh,  I  can't  believe  it! 

Miss  BLAIR — (alarmed)  My  face?  What  is 
the  matter  with  my  face? 

DEACON   BACKSLAP — Oh,    I   can't   believe   it! 

Miss  BLAIR — Tell  me,  what  is  the  matter? 
What's  wrong  with  my  face? 

DEACON  BACKSLAP— Oh,  don't  be  alarmed, 
your  face  is  all  right,  but — ah — would  you  mind 
taking  off  your  hat? 


38        THE  GIRL  IN  THE  PICTURE 

Miss  BLAIR — The  idea!  You're  the  second 
man  to-day  who  has  asked  me  to  do  that!  It's 
getting  to  be  a  habit. 

(Miss  Blair  removes  her  hat.  The  deacon  gazes 
at  her  for  a  full  minute.) 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — I'm — almost — positive ! 
Can  it  be  possible?  (thinks  a  moment)  Would 
you  mind,  Miss  Blair,  doing  me  another  favor? 

Miss  BLAIR — Of  course  not.     What  is  it? 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — Just  a  moment.  I'll  show 
you.  (The  deacon  takes  a  penknife  from  his  pocket, 
and  walks  over  to  the  white  screen.)  Do  you  see  this 
screen?  Well,  I'm  going  to  cut  a  hole  in  it  like  this. 
(Here  he  cuts  a  round  hole  in  the  canvas  to  the  right 
of  the  middle  of  the  screen,  about  ten  inches  in  diame- 
ter, and  about  six  feet  from  the  floor.)  Now,  Miss 
Blair,  kindly  step  back  of  the  screen,  step  up  on 
this  stool  and  look  through  the  hole.  (Miss  Blair 
does  as  requested.)  There!  Now  look  straight 
ahead  and  don't  try  to  see  anything  on  the  screen. 
Do  you  understand?  Don't  look  on  the  screen. 
Now,  just  a  minute.  ( The  deacon  goes  to  the  magic- 
lantern,  and  adjusting  it,  flashes  the  picture  of  the 
scantily  draped  woman  on  the  screen  in  such  a  way 
that  the  head  of  the  pictured  woman  and  the  head  of 
Miss  Blair  appear  side  by  side.  The  deacon  throws 
up  his  hands  in  dismay.)  Oh,  my  God!  It's 
the  same,  I  swear  it's  the  same ! 

Miss  BLAIR — What's  the  same? 

DEACON    BACKSLAP — Your   face!     Your   face! 

Miss  BLAIR — Of  course  it's  the  same.  You 
didn't  expect  it  to  change,  did  you? 


ACT  I  39 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — Oh,  don't  trifle,  don't 
bandy  words  at  such  a  time! 

Miss  BLAIR — I  hadn't  thought  of  trifling.  I'm 
sorry  if  my  face  hasn't  changed  enough  to  please 
you. 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — Oh,  if  it  only  would 
change ! 

Miss  BLAIR — (screams)     What! 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — (walks  over  near  the  screen) 
I  mean — er — oh,  I  can't  tell  you  what  I  mean. 
But  would  you — er — would  you  mind  telling  me 
something?  I  may  seem  rather  curious,  but 
really — er — 

Miss  BLAIR— Well? 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — You  won't  be  offended, 
will  you? 

Miss  BLAIR — Oh,  no,  go  ahead. 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — Well  then,  when  you  were 
in  the  studio  this  morning,  may  I  ask  what  you 
wore? 

Miss  BLAIR — What  I  wore?     What  a  question! 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — Oh,  don't  be  offended. 
If — if  it's  embarrassing,  you  needn't  answer. 

Miss  BLAIR — Embarrassing?  Why,  you  actu- 
ally speak  as  if  I  should  be  ashamed  of  my  clothes. 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — Oh,  no,  not  at  all,  not  at 
all.  You  needn't  be  ashamed  of  clothes,  oh,  no, 
indeed,  not  of  clothes — if  there's  enough  of  them. 

Miss  BLAIR — Why,  that's  worse!  Now  you're 
insinuating  that  I  have  only  a  few  clothes.  I 
never 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — Oh,  you  don't  under- 
stand— you  don't  understand.  But  tell  me, 


40       THE  GIRL  IN  THE  PICTURE 

please, — What  did  you  wear  in  the  studio  this 
morning? 

Miss  BLAIR — Oh,  just  a  little,  white,  filmy 
thing 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — Good  Lord!  Oh,  heavens, 
I'm  undone!  I'm  undone! 

Miss  BLAIR — Don't  you  want  me  to  describe 
it? 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — Oh,  never  mind,  never 
mind,  you  needn't  say  any  more.  I  suppose  it's 
all  true.  Oh,  Lord,  oh,  Lord,  what  a  mess  I'm  in, 
what  a  mess  I'm  in ! 

Miss  BLAIR — I  really  can't  understand  what 
you're  making  so  much  fuss  about.  Why  did 
you  ask  me  to  tell  you  what  I  wore? 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — I  was  hoping  that  you'd 
prove  an  alibi — but  you  didn't.  Oh,  I'm  in  for  it, 
all  right. 

Miss  BLAIR — What  a  funny  man! 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — And  to  think  that  you  are 
engaged  to  my  son!  Under  the  circumstances, 
miss,  I  think  I  ought  to  marry  you  myself. 

Miss  BLAIR — Oh,  how  nice  if  you  only  could! 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — What !  Would  you  throw 
over  George?  Oh,  you  heartless  woman! 

Miss  BLAIR — Throw  over  George?  I  guess 
not! 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — Do  you  mean  to  say  you'd 
marry  us  both? 

Miss  BLAIR — What!  Marry  you  both?  I 
don't  understand  you  at  all!  And  why  in  the 
world  do  you  wish  me  to  stand  on  this  stool  and 
look  through  this  hole?  What's  on  the  screen, 
anyway? 


ACT  I  41 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — Now  my  dear  young  lady, 
don't  look  on  the  screen,  please.  Just  a  moment, 
now 

(Here  Mrs.  Backslap,  followed  by  Mrs.  Black, 
Green,  Brown  and  Gray,  enters  from  the  right,  and, 
catching  sight  of  the  picture  on  the  screen,  and  of 
Miss  Blair's  face  looking  through  the  hole  in  the 
canvas,  they  all  rush  forward  and  set  up  a  scream 
like  an  Indian  war-whoop.  The  deacon  seizes  a 
cover  from  a  table  near  by  and  tries  to  cover  the 
picture  of  the  draped  woman  from  the  neck,  down. 
Miss  Blair  holds  her  ground  on  the  stool.} 

MRS.  BACKSLAP — (to  her  husband)  Oh,  you 
villain!  I've  caught  you  in  the  very  act!  How 
dare  you  bring  that  hussy  into  this  house?  Oh, 
you  contemptible  wretch! 

(The  deacon  drops  the  table-cover,  and,  darting 
to  the  magic-lantern,  turns  off  the  light.) 

Miss  BLAIR — (jumping  off  the  stool,  comes  for- 
ward and  addresses  Mrs.  Backslap)  Why,  what 
can  you  mean?  What  did  you  call  me? 

MRS.  BACKSLAP — How  dare  you  speak  to  me? 
You  low,  brazen  thing ! 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — Now  my  dear 

MRS.  BACKSLAP — -(stamping  her  foot)  Silence, 
sir!  How  dare  you  take  her  part! 

Miss  BLAIR — I  don't  understand.  What  have 
I  done?  (At  this  point  George  Backslap,  Mrs. 
Blair,  Paynter  and  Scribbleton  enter.  Inez  catches 
sight  of  George.)  Oh,  George,  what  is  the  matter 


42       THE  GIRL  IN  THE  PICTURE 

here?  I  was  called  a  dreadful  name.  What  have 
I  done? 

GEORGE — (putting  his  arms  about  Miss  Blair) 
My  poor  little  darling!  What  is  the  trouble, 
mother? 

MRS.  BACKSLAP — (to  George)  Stand  away  from 
that  woman!  Don't  touch  her!  How  dare  you! 

GEORGE — (still  holding  Inez)  WThy  mother, 
this  is  my  fiancee.  Haven't  you  met  her? 

MRS.  BACKSLAP — Your  fiancee?  Miss  Blair? 
Oh,  this  is  terrible,  this  is  terrible!  Oh,  my  poor 
son! 

GEORGE — Why,  what  is  the  trouble,  mother? 
What  has  she  done? 

MRS.  BACKSLAP — Ask  your  father  what  she 
did.  Oh,  it  is  dreadful,  dreadful! 

GEORGE — Father,  what  is  mother  referring  to? — 
Speak  out,  man,  speak  out ! 

MRS.  BLAIR — (who  has  hurried  to  her  daughter's 
side)  (indignantly)  Yes,  speak  out!  What  possible 
harm  could  my  daughter  have  done? 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — Oh,  I'd  rather  not  say 
anything.  You  see 

GEORGE — But  you  must!  You  must!  Don't 
you  see  that  by  refusing  to  speak  you  make  it 
appear  that  there  is  something  to  hide?  Speak 
out,  man,  speak  out. 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — (reluctantly)  Well,  you 
see  it  was  like  this:  I  visited  Mr.  Paynter's 
studio  this  morning,  and,  while  there,  was — er — 
persuaded  to  take  a  little  wine.  Miss  Blair 
arrived  at  the  studio  and — er — er — well,  I — er — 
oh,  I  can't  believe  it!  It  simply  isn't  possible! 
Now  see  here,  I'm  going  to  settle  this  thing  right 


ACT  I  43 

now.  (Turns  to  Miss  Blair)  Point  blank,  Miss 
Blair,  point  blank,  face  to  face,  when  you  were  in 
the  studio,  did  I  take  your  picture? 

Miss  BLAIR — (innocently)  You  certainly  did 
take  my  picture. 

MRS.  BACKSLAP — Oh,  my  God! 

(Mrs.  Backslap  throws  up  her  hands  and  faints, 
being  caught  by  her  son.  The  four  Crusaders  utter 
screams  and  faint  also,  two  into  the  arms  of  Paynter 
and  two  into  the  arms  of  Scribbleton.) 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — (fairly  screaming)  What! 
That  picture? 

(The  deacon  presses  the  button  and  flashes  the 
picture  of  the  scantily  draped  woman  on  the  screen. 
Miss  Blair  and  her  mother  glance  at  the  picture, 
utter  one  long,  piercing  scream  and  faint,  falling 
against  George,  who  holds  up  the  three  women  with 
great  difficulty.) 

PAYNTER — Oh,  my  God!  Look!  Look!  The 
picture!  The  picture!  Oh,  I'm  ruined,  I'm 
ruined ! 

(The  artist  drops,  sprawling  to  the  floor,  the  two 
women  he  is  holding  and  rushes  for  the  door,  followed 
by  Scribbleton,  who  drops  the  other  two  Crusaders. 
Deacon  Backslap  looks  about  him  with  an  expression 
utterly  woe-begone,  throws  up  his  hands  and  faints 
also,  falling  against  the  women  who  are  being  held 
up  by  his  son,  when  the  load,  becoming  too  great  for 
George,  the  whole  bunch  of  them  topple  over  to  the 
floor.) 

(CURTAIN) 


Act  II 

Time — The    next    day. 

Scene — Max  Paynter' s  studio.  A  couch,  a 
small  table  and  a  number  of  chairs  are  disposed  about 
the  room.  There  is  a  sketch  of  a  dancing-girl  to  the 
left  of  the  entrance  and  one  of  a  bathing-girl  to  the 
right;  also  various  other  finished  and  unfinished 
pictures  adorn  the  walls.  There  is  a  large  canvas 
in  the  centre  of  the  foreground  which  is  entirely 
covered  by  a  green  blanket.  Mr.  Paynter  is  seated 
at  the  table  in  an  attitude  of  dejection,  looking  very 
glum  indeed.  After  the  curtain  rises,  Jeannette,  a 
beautiful  young  artist's  model  of  the  brunette  type, 
enters  jauntily,  dressed  in  flesh-colored  tights  from 
neck  to  toe,  scantily  draped  by  a  filmy  red  scarf. 
Paynter  is  so  absorbed  in  thought  that  he  does  not 
notice  her. 

JEANNETTE — (tapping  Paynter  on  the  shoulder*) 
Hello,  old  man. 

PAYNTER — (starting  up}  Eh?  (relieved)  Oh, 
it's  you,  is  it? 

JEANNETTE — Of  course  it  is.  Who  did  you 
think  it  was? 

PAYNTER — I  thought  it  was  the  police. 

JEANNETTE — (laughing)  You  must  have  a  bad 
conscience. 

PAYNTER — I'm  afraid  I  have,  for  it  didn't 
bother  me  at  all  until  I  was  caught  with  the  goods. 
44 


ACT  II  45 

JEANNETTE — (smiling}  What  were  you  caught 
doing  this  time? 

PAYNTER — This  time?  Say,  this  is  no  joke. 
The  fact  is,  I'm  in  a  devil  of  a  mess. 

JEANNETTE — Oh,  you  poor  boy!  What's  the 
trouble?  Can  you  tell  me? 

PAYNTER — It's  all  about  that  picture,  (points 
to  the  canvas  covered  by  the  green  blanket}  the  one  I 
didn't  want  anyone  to  see. 

JEANNETTE — Well,  nobody  saw  it,  did  they? 

PAYNTER — Oh,  didn't  they?  Well,  let  me  tell 
you  something:  Yesterday  a  photograph  of  it 
was  thrown  on  a  screen  before  an  audience  of  a 
dozen  people. 

JEANNETTE — A  photograph  of  it?     Impossible! 

PAYNTER — All  the  same,  it's  a  fact. 

JEANNETTE — Who  took  the  photograph? 

PAYNTER — That  old  sneak  of  a  deacon  who  was 
in  here  yesterday. 

JEANNETTE — He  did?  Do  you  mean  he  photo- 
graphed it  on  the  sly? 

PAYNTER — That's  what  he  did. 

JEANNETTE — Why,  isn't  that  strange?  When 
could  he  have  gotten  the  chance  to  do  it? 

PAYNTER — Oh,  he  did  it  all  right,  for  when  I 
called  on  him  in  the  afternoon,  he  had  the  effrontery 
to  exhibit  the  picture  in  a  magic-lantern  to  a  whole 
roomful  of  people.  I  used  Miss  Blair's  face,  you 
know,  as  a  model  in  painting  the  picture,  though 
I  never  dared  let  her  know  it.  Well,  Miss  Blair 
was  in  the  room,  and,  to  make  matters  worse,  is 
engaged  to  the  deacon's  son,  and  when  she  saw 
the  picture,  she  fainted,  and  so  did  her  mother  and 
a  lot  of  other  women.  Oh,  there's  going  to  be 


46       THE  GIRL  IN  THE  PICTURE 

the  devil  to  pay!  It'll  all  be  in  the  papers  I  sup- 
pose, and  I'll  be  sued,  or  jugged,  or  horse- whipped, 
or  something. 

JEANNETTE — Oh,  you  poor  boy!  What  are 
you  going  to  do  about  it? 

PAYNTER — What  can  I  do  about  it?  I'm 
caught  with  the  goods.  Oh,  how  I'd  like  to 
punch  that  old  sour-faced  trouble-maker!  Say, 
if  I  had  my  hands  on  him,  I'd  tear  him  limb  from 
limb. 

JEANNETTE — The  old  sneak!  Coming  around 
here  stirring  up  trouble! 

PAYNTER — He's  an  old  hypocrite,  that's  what 
he  is. 

JEANNETTE — He  sure  is.  Why,  he  had  the 
nerve,  yesterday,  to  make  love  to  me. 

PAYNTER — Is  that  so?  Well,  it's  about  what 
I'd  expect  from  a  professional  reformer.  Look 
how  he  preaches  against  vice,  and  then  comes  in 
here  and  gets  drunk.  I  wouldn't  be  a  bit  sur- 
prised if  he  touched  me  for  money. 

JEANNETTE — It's  a  shame  that  you  should  be 
bothered  so. 

PAYNTER — Especially  this  morning,  when  I 
intended  starting  on  that  illustrating  work.  I 
see  you  are  all  ready  to  pose  for  it,  but  I'll  be 
blamed  if  I'm  in  any  mood  for  it  now.  Maybe  in 
half  an  hour  I'll  feel  more  like  it.  I  wish  Bob 
would  drop  in.  He  might  be  able  to  help  me  out 
of  this  scrape. 

JEANNETTE — Oh,  I'm  sure  he  could! 

(Bell  rings.) 


ACT  II  47 

JEANNETTE — There,  I  must  fly  before  some  one 
catches  me  looking  like  this. 

PAYNTER — You'd  better  stay.  It  may  be  Mr. 
Scribbleton. 

JEANNETTE — All  the  more  reason,  then,  for 
vanishing.  The  fact  is,  (demurely  looking  at  her 
scant  attire)  I  never  like  to  receive  visitors  in 
my  working  clothes ! 

PAYNTER — (laughing  immoderately)  Ho,  ho, 
you  certainly  are  getting  very  sensitive,  Jeannette. 
But  don't  go  home.  I  may  need  you  later  on. 

JEANNETTE— All  right,  Max,  when  you  need  me, 
let  me  know. 

(Exit  Jeannette  on  the  run.  Enter  Deacon 
Backslap,  looking  as  if  he  had  lost  his  last  friend. 
The  deacon  is  just  in  time  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the 
fleeing,  scantily  clad  model,  and  stops  suddenly, 
horrified.} 

PAYNTER — (sarcastically)  Oh,  ho,  we're  early 
on  the  job,  aren't  we? 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — Good  morning,  sir,  you're 
just  the  man  I  want  to  see. 

PAYNTER — I'm  sorry  I  can't  return  the  com- 
pliment. 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — (mournfully')  No?  Well, 
I  don't  blame  you;  everybody,  I  suppose,  thinks 
ill  of  me  now. 

PAYNTER — (menacingly')  If  I  thought  you  had 
your  kodak  anywhere  about  you,  I'd  throw  you 
out  of  the  studio. 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — Oh,  then  you  know  about 
it! 


48       THE  GIRL  IN  THE  PICTURE 

PAYNTER — Of  course  I  know  about  it.  Didn't 
I  see  the  picture  in  your  house?  How  dare  you 
bring  a  camera  to  my  studio  and  take  a  picture 
like  that?  How  dare  you  do  it,  you  sneak? 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — (mournfully)  Oh,  then  it's 
all  true!  I  had  hoped  it  wasn't, — I  had  prayed 
it  wasn't, — Oh,  this  is  terrible!  terrible! — But 
do  you  know,  your  attitude  is  rather  surprising? 
I  always  thought  that  artists  painted  pictures  like 
that  as  a  matter  of  course. 

PAYNTER — Well,  what's  that  got  to  do  with  it? 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — Why,  I  can't  see  why  you 
are  so  hard  on  me  for  doing  with  a  camera  what 
you  do  so  often  with  a  brush. 

PAYNTER — You  old  hypocrite,  what  has  the 
subject  of  the  picture  got  to  do  with  it?  It  was 
the  way  you  took  it  that  I  object  to. 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — The  way  I  took  it? 

PAYNTER — Yes — on  the  sly. 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — Why,  that  part  of  it 
carries  no  weight  at  all ! 

PAYNTER — My  dear  sir,  "That  part  of  it"  is 
forbidden  by  a  Commandment  which  says,  "  Thou 
shalt  not  steal. " 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — Steal?  I  didn't  steal  any- 
thing. I  can't  understand  your  reasoning  at  all. 
What  does  it  matter  whether  I  took  the  picture 
in  secret  or  openly?  The  thing  that  counts  is: 
The  picture  was  bad. 

PAYNTER — What !  How  dare  you  criticize  my 
picture? 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — (astonished)  Your  pic- 
ture? Your  picture?  Why,  you're  not  a  woman, 
are  you? 


ACT  H  49 

PAYNTER — In  heaven's  name,  are  you  crazy? 
Are  you  trying  to  make  a  joke  of  it? 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — No,  I'm  not,  but  it  seems 
to  me  that  you  are. 

PAYNTER — Now  see  here,  you  came  in  here 
yesterday  and  took  a  picture,  and  the  picture 
turns  out  to  be  that  of  your  prospective  daughter- 
in-law.  Now  sir,  what  are  you  going  to  do  about 
it, — blackmail  me? 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — (astonished  again)  Black- 
mail you?  Blackmail  you?  See  here  now,  don't 
ever  call  me  crazy  again.  You're  getting  wilder 
in  your  talk  every  minute. 

PAYNTER — Well,  then,  what  did  you  come  for? 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — I  wanted  to  know  if  I 
really  did  get  the  picture  here. 

PAYNTER — Why,  weren't  you  sure  of  it? 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — I  was  told  that  I  took 
the  picture  here,  and  a  number  of  things  pointed 
that  way,  but  I — I  couldn't  believe  it.  I  was — 
er — not  myself,  you  know.  I  had  taken  a  glass 
or  two  of  wine,  and,  not  being  used  to  it,  it  went 
to  my  head,  and  what  I  did  after  that  I  don't  know. 
Everything's  a  blank,  you  know,  everything's 
a  blank. 

PAYNTER — (kicking  himself}  Oh,  if  I'd  only 
known  that  before !  What  an  ass  I  am. — But  who 
told  you  that  you  took  the  picture  here? 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — (reluctantly)  The  lady 
herself. 

PAYNTER— The  lady?     What  lady? 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — Miss  Blair.  You  were 
present  when  she  told  me. 


50       THE  GIRL  IN  THE  PICTURE 

PAYNTER — Oh,  is  that  what  she  meant?  Great 
heavens,  how  did  she  know? 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — Know  what? 

PAYNTER — About  the  picture. 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — Seems  to  me  she  ought  to 
know  a  good  deal  about  it. 

PAYNTER — But  why  should  she? 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — Why,  the  lady's  not 
blind! 

PAYNTER — I  don't  understand. 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — I  mean  that  the  lady  was 
evidently  facing  me  when  I  took  her  picture. 

PAYNTER — Oh,  you  mean  that  she  saw  you  take 
the  picture? 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — Of  course  she  did! 

PAYNTER — All  of  which  shows  that  if  you  hadn't 
been  snooping  around  with  that  damned  camera 
of  yours,  there  wouldn't  have  been  any  trouble  at 
all.  What  a  lot  of  devilish  curiosity  you  must 
have!  You  saw  something  with  a  cover  over  it, 
and  you  couldn't  stand  the  pressure, — you  must 
needs  remove  the  cover.  And  now  that  Miss 
Blair  knows  about  it,  I  suppose  there'll  be  hell. 
Oh,  you  old  sneak!  You  blame  it  all  on  drink, 
but  I  have  my  doubts  about  your  being  drunk 
when  you  took  that  picture.  I'll  soon  find  out. 
(strides  toward  side  door)  Jeannette,  Jeannette, 
are  you  there,  Jeannette? 

JEANNETTE — (from  adjoining  room)  Yes,  Mr. 
Paynter. 

PAYNTER — Come  in  a  moment,  please.  (Enter 
Jeannette,  in  pink  silk  kimona.)  Jeannette,  I 
believe  you  and  the  deacon  met  before? 

JEANNETTE — Oh,  yes, — I'm  sorry  to  say. 


ACT  II  51 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — Eh? 

PAYNTER — (to  Jeannette)  I  want  to  ask  you  a 
few  questions  about  what  happened  here  yester- 
day. 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — Oh,  I  beg  of  you 

PAYNTER — Well  ? 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — The  lady, — the  lady, — 
you  won't  talk  about  it  to  the  lady? 

PAYNTER — Tut,  tut,  you  weren't  so  squeamish 
yesterday  when  you  were  making  love  to  her. 

DEACON    BACKSLAP — Oh,    Lord!    What  next? 

PAYNTER — Jeannette,  had  the  deacon  been 
drinking  when  you  and  Mr.  Scribbleton  met  him 
in  the  studio  yesterday  morning? 

JEANNETTE — Oh,  no,  sir.  But  we  all  had  a  few 
drinks  after  that. 

PAYNTER — Did  he  take  any  pictures  with  his 
kodak  while  you  were  with  him? 

JEANNETTE — No  sir,  none. 

PAYNTER — Therefore,  from  the  time  he  started 
to  drink  until  he  left  the  studio,  drunk,  he  didn't 
take  any  pictures? 

JEANNETTE — Absolutely  none. 

PAYNTER — Then  he  must  have  taken  the  pic- 
ture before  he  got  drunk? 

JEANNETTE — That's  the  only  time  he  could  have 
taken  it. 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — What!  Do  you  mean  to 
tell  me  that  I  was  sober  when  I  took  that  picture? 

PAYNTER — I  think  I  have  proved  it  to  you, 
haven't  I? 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — Oh,  this  is  getting  worse, 
worse,  all  the  time!  Oh,  this  is  impossible!  I 
can't  believe  it! 


52       THE  GIRL  IN  THE  PICTURE 

PAYNTER — It's  true  nevertheless.  Jeannette 
was  with  you  from  the  time  you  took  the  first 
drink  until  you  were  put  in  a  cab  and  sent  home. 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — My  God,  man,  do  you 
want  to  rob  me  of  my  only  defence?  There's 
some  excuse  for  the  man  who  does  a  thing  when 
he's  drunk,  but  none  for  the  man  who  is  sober. 
Oh,  my!  my!  what  can  I  say  to  Mirandy  now? 

PAYNTER — I  don't  care  a  rap  what  you  say  to 
Mirandy,  but  I'm  interested  in  what  you're  going 
to  say  to  me.  Come,  what's  next?  Do  you  de- 
mand an  apology?  a  duel?  blood-money?  or  that  I 
marry  the  girl?  Which  is  it  to  be?  Come  to 
the  point,  please,  for  my  time's  too  valuable  to 
waste  on  a  saint  like  you. 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — (astonished)  Duel?  Blood- 
money?  Apology?  Marry  the  girl?  In  the 
name  of  the  saints !  Is  this  a  house  for  paranoiacs  ? 

PAYNTER — No,  you've  been  brought  to  the 
wrong  place. 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — By  jingo,  I  have  gotten 
into  the  wrong  place.  And  I'll  get  out  of  it 
mighty  quick,  too.  I  never  did  like  to  talk  to 
lunatics.  But  I'll  come  back,  oh,  I'll  come  back, 
Mr.  Paynter,  and  I'll  talk  it  over  with  you  again 
when  you're  more  rational. 

(Deacon  Backslap  rushes  toward  the  door.) 

PAYNTER — My  dear,  good  man,  I  don't  give  a 
damn  if  you  never  come  back! 

(Exit  Deacon  Backslap.) 


ACT  II  53 

JEANNETTE — Say,  there's  something  fishy  about 
this  situation. 

PAYNTER — Fishy  ? 

JEANNETTE — Yes,  fishy. 

PAYNTER — I  hadn't  observed  anything  like 
fish. 

JEANNETTE — I  mean  there's  something  queer 
about  this  affair.  The  deacon  didn't  seem  to 
understand  you. 

PAYNTER — Well,  if  he  didn't,  it  wasn't  my 
fault,  I  called  him  all  the  appropriate  names  I 
could  think  of. 

(Enter  Bob  Scribbleton.) 

SCRIBBLETON Hello,  people. 

PAYNTER — (striding  to  meet  him  and  shaking 
his  hand)  Hello,  Bob,  you're  just  the  fellow  I 
want  to  see. 

SCRIBBLETON — Good.  (Shakes  hands  with  Jean- 
nette)  Hello,  little  one.  How's  the  lady  in  pink, 
this  morning? 

JEANNETTE — Fine  and  dandy.  I  wish  Mr. 
Paynter  could  say  the  same. 

SCRIBBLETON — Why,  what's  the  matter  with 
Max? 

JEANNETTE — He's  in  an  awful  scrape. 

SCRIBBLETON — What's  the  matter,  Max? 

PAYNTER — Oh,  1  very  foolishly  put  my  head  in  a 
halter,  that's  all.  Do  you  remember  my  refusing 
to  show  you  a  picture  that  I  was  painting — the 
one  over  there  with  a  cover  over  it? 

SCRIBBLETON — Oh,  yes,  I  remember  the  picture 
well.  Best  thing  you  ever  did! — Er — ah — I 


54       THE  GIRL  IN  THE  PICTURE 

mean,  it  was  the  best  thing  you  ever  did  to  put 
a  cover  over  it. 

PAYNTER — What's  that! 

SCRIBBLETON — I  mean — er — a  cover  is  very  apt 
to  arouse  people's  curiosity  to  a  high  pitch,  you 
know,  gets  them  interested. 

PAYNTER — Oh,  I  see.  It  wasn't  done,  however, 
for  that  purpose,  but  it  evidently  had  that  effect. 
At  any  rate,  the  picture  represents  a  scantily 
draped  young  lady  who  possesses  a  sweet,  spirituelle 
face.  I  wanted  to  paint  the  picture  especially  for 
the  Paris  Salon,  but  I  was  at  my  wits'  end  for  a 
model.  I  did  not  know  any  model  who  had  a 
spirituelle  face.  There  was  a  young  lady  who  was 
having  me  paint  her  portrait  who  had  just  the  face 
I  wanted.  But  I  didn't  have  the  nerve  to  ask 
her  to  pose  for  my  picture.  I  knew  she  would 
consider  it  an  insult.  So  what  did  I  do?  I  got 
Jeannette  to  pose  for  the  body  and  I  copied  the 
face  from  my  portrait  of  the  lady.  That's  why  I 
didn't  wish  anyone  to  see  the  picture — at  least  not 
here — in  Paris,  where  the  lady  is  unknown,  it 
wouldn't  have  mattered.  And  what  happened? 
Yesterday,  Deacon  Backslap  sneaked  in  here  with 
a  camera  and  took  a  photograph  of  the  picture 
without  anyone  knowing  it.  It  happens  that 
the  young  lady  whose  face  I  used  is  engaged  to  the 
deacon's  son.  The  deacon  exhibited  the  photo- 
graph on  a  screen  to  a  whole  roomful  of  people 
yesterday  afternoon.  The  young  lady  was  among 
the  number.  You  saw  the  photograph  on  the 
screen  at  Deacon  Backslap's  and  you  saw  its 
effect  on  the  young  lady  and  the  rest  of  the  women. 


ACT  II  55 

Now  the  question  is:  How  in  thunderation  am  I 
going  to  get  out  of  it? 

SCRIBBLETON — (highly  amused)  And  so  Dea- 
con Backslap  took  a  photograph  of  your  picture, 
did  he? 

PAYNTEB — He  certainly  did, — but  I  don't  see 
anything  funny  about  it. 

SCRIBBLETON — No,  of  course  not.  (Laughs 
heartily.) 

JEANNETTE — You  are  not   very   sympathetic. 

SCRIBBLETON — Oh,  I'm  chock  full  of  sympathy, 
indeed  I  am,  the  fact  is,  I'm  just  trying  to  hide 
my  tears,— a  fellow  doesn't  like  to  cry  before  a 
woman,  you  know.  (Snatches  Jeannette's  hand- 
kerchief and  pretends  to  wipe  his  eyes,  and  laughs 
again.) 

JEANNETTE — (recovering  her  handkerchief)  Brute ! 

PAYNTER — Oh,  let  him  laugh.  Let  him  wag 
his  ears,  too,  if  he  wants  to. 

SCRIBBLETON — It  certainly  is  a  funny  situation. 
But  say — er — how  did  the  deacon  know  you  were 
painting  that  kind  of  a  picture  of  his  prospective 
daughter-in-law  ? 

PAYNTER — That's  what  I  don't  understand. 
He  pretends  he  was  drunk  when  he  took  the  pic- 
ture and  didn't  know  where  he  got  it. 

SCRIBBLETON — (laughing  again)  Oh,  he  didn't? 
Well,  all  you've  got  to  do  then,  is  to  keep  your 
mouth  shut,  and  he  never  will  know  where  he 
got  it. 

PAYNTER — Unfortunately,  he  came  in  this 
morning,  and,  like  a  fool,  I  immediately  jumped 
on  him  for  taking  a  photograph  of  the  picture  with- 
out my  consent. 


56       THE  GIRL  IN  THE  PICTURE 

SCRIBBLETON — (laughing}     You  don't  say! 

PAYNTER — I  called  him  a  sneak  and  ripped  him 
up  the  back  in  great  shape.  (Scribbleton  goes 
on  laughing  and  slaps  his  leg.)  But,  as  it  turned 
out,  Miss  Blair  had  told  him  where  he  had  gotten 
the  picture, — though  how  she  knew  anything 
about  it  beats  me! 

SCRIBBLETON — That's  news,  sure! — But  what 
did  the  old  fellow  threaten  to  do? 

PAYNTER — That's  another  strange  thing.  He 
didn't  threaten  to  do  anything,  except  to  come 
again  and  talk  it  over. 

SCRIBBLETON — Then  what's  the  use  of  worrying 
about  it? 

PAYNTER — Oh,  how  can  I  help  it?  I  know 
what's  coming — a  lawsuit  or  a  horsewhipping — 
the  lady  herself  will  probably  start  something — 
and  I've  got  a  reputation,  man,  I've  got  a  repu- 
tation. 

SCRIBBLETON — (with  sly  glance  at  Jeannette) 
So  have  I,  but  it's  mostly  for  being  a  "De'il  amang 
the  weemen. " 

JEANNETTE — I  should  think  you  had! 

SCRIBBLETON — At  any  rate,  what's  the  use  of 
worrying?  You  can't  afford  it — you  won't  be  able 
to  paint.  I'll  tell  you  what  you  do :  Let  me  try 
to  fix  this  up  for  you.  I'm  a  past  master  at  the 
game.  Don't  worry  a  bit  and  let  me  handle  the 
case.  How  about  it,  will  you  let  me? 

PAYNTER — Will  I  let  you?  Say,  if  you  pull 
me  out  of  this  hole,  I'll — I'll — why  I'll  let  you 
call  on  Jeannette. 

JEANNETTE — Oh,  indeed? 

SCRIBBLETON — Thank   you,    old    man,    thank 


ACT  II  57 

you,  but — er — well,  you  know,  I  used  to  think  I 
cut  something  of  a  figure  around  here,  but  since 
the  deacon  made  his  appearance,  I've  changed  my 
mind.  I  don't  stand  one,  two,  three,  any  more. 

PAYNTER — Is  that  so?  Why,  the  deacon's  a 
married  man ! 

SCRIBBLETON — Oh,  he  has  other  charms  be- 
sides that ! 

JEANNETTE — (blushing)  Oh,  you  men  make 
me  tired ! 

SCRIBBLETON — Hear  that?  We  make  her  tired. 
She  wouldn't  say  that  to  the  deacon. 

(Jeannette  giggles  and  makes  a  face  at  her  tor- 
mentors.) 

PAYNTER — Well,  how  about  it,  do  you  really 
mean  it?  Will  you  help  me  out  of  this  cursed 
business? 

SCRIBBLETON — Of  course  I  will.  Here's  my 
hand  on  it.  Now,  Max,  don't  think  any  more 
about  it.  If  any  one  broaches  the  subject,  refer 
him  to  me.  Understand?  Refer  him  to  me. 

PAYNTER — All  right,  Bob,  you're  a  brick.  But 
how  are  you  going  to  get  me  out  of  it? 

SCRIBBLETON — Never  mind.  I've  got  an  idea 
in  my  noodle.  That's  all  it's  necessary  for  you  to 
know.  Leave  it  to  me,  Max.  Understand? 
Leave  it  to  me. 

PAYNTER — Good,  you  don't  know  how  relieved 
I  feel. — And  now,  if  you'll  excuse  me,  I've  a  little 
business  to  attend  to.  I've  been  engaged,  you 
know,  to  paint  some  illustrations  for  a  new  book — 
Jeannette  is  going  to  pose  for  them — but  I  haven't 


58        THE  GIRL  IN  THE  PICTURE 

got  all  of  the  properties  that  are  to  appear  in  the 
pictures,  and  I'll  have  to  go  out  and  get  them 
somewhere.  One  of  the  things  I  need  is  a  big, 
old-fashioned  camera. 

SCRIBBLETON — A  big  camera? 

PAYNTER — Yes,  such  as  you'd  find  in  a  photo- 
graph gallery.  Think  of  me  painting  a  picture 
with  a  camera  in  it! — when  I  simply  hate  photo- 
graphs! Irony  of  Fate,  isn't  it? 

SCRIBBLETON — Take  care,  you'll  owe  your 
notoriety  to  a  camera  yet. 

PAYNTER — Or — a — horsewhip  Ta,  ta,  I'll  see 
you  later. 

SCRIBBLETON — Good-bye,  old  man,  I'll  hold 
the  fort  until  you  return. 

(Exit  Paynter.) 

JEANNETTE — What  did  you  say  you  would  hold? 

SCRIBBLETON — The  fort,  but  what  I  really 
meant  was — your  hand. 

JEANNETTE — I  like  your  nerve! 

SCRIBBLETON — Well,  that's  encouraging;  keep 
on,  maybe  you'll  like  the  rest  of  me  after  awhile. 

JEANNETTE — Oh,  there's  so  little  left,  it  isn't 
worth  considering. 

SCRIBBLETON — Thanks.  We  seem  to  get  along 
nicely,  don't  we?  Did  you  ever  notice  it? — 
every  time  we  get  within  hailing  distance,  we  put 
up  our  props  and  take  a  swat  at  each  other.  But 
do  you  know,  I've  come  to  believe  that  we  only 
give  each  other  love  taps,  after  all.  Say,  Jeannette, 
you're  a  little  beauty,  aren't  you? 


ACT  II  59 

JEANNETTE — (dropping  her  eyes)  Do  you  think 
so? 

SCRIBBLETON — Do  I?  Why,  when  I  see  you  I 
can't  take  my  eyes  off  you,  and  when  I  go  away, 
your  image  goes  with  me.  Oh,  Jeannette,  I — I — 
wish  you  and  I  could — er — I  wish  you  and  I  could 
love  each  other! 

JEANNETTE — Oh,  Bob,  do  you — do  you  find  it 
so  difficult,  then? 

SCRIBBLETON — Do  I  find  what  so  difficult? 

JEANNETTE — To — a — to  love  me — even  a  teenie 
weenie  bit? 

SCRIBBLETON — (taking  her  in  his  arms)  My 
dear  little  girl!  I  never  found  anything  so  easy 
in  all  my  life! 

JEANNETTE — (trying  to  disengage  herself) 
What's  that!  I'm  easy? 

SCRIBBLETON — Oh,  no,  no,  I  mean — I  mean  it 
wasn't  a  case  of  trying  to  love  you — the  love  just 
oozed  into  my  system  like — well,  like  water  soak- 
ing into  a  dish-rag. 

JEANNETTE — How  beautiful! 

SCRIBBLETON — Yes,  it  is  pretty,  isn't  it?  A 
dish-rag  and  water  make  a  splendid  combination, 
especially  with  a  piece  of  soap. 

JEANNETTE — Go  on,  go  on,  dear,  and  tell  me 
the  rest. 

SCRIBBLETON — About  the  water  and  the  rag? 

JEANNETTE — Oh,  no,  about — about  your  love. 

SCRIBBLETON — Oh,  yes,  sure, — you  know  I'd 
do  most  anything  to  please  a  lady. 

JEANNETTE — I  believe  you're  just  making  fun 
of  me. 

SCRIBBLETON — Oh,  no,    Jeannette,   no,   no,    I 


60       THE  GIRL  IN  THE  PICTURE 

wouldn't  make  fun  of  the  sweetest  little  girl  in 
all  the  world! 

JEANNETTE — Am  I  that  to  you? 

SCRIBBLETON — Indeed  you  are.  And  now, 
dearest,  when  is  it  to  be? 

JEANNETTE — When  is  what  to  be? 

SCRIBBLETON — Our  marriage. 

JEANNETTE — Oh,  do  you  want  to  marry  me? 

SCRIBBLETON — Do  I  want  to  marry  you? 
What  the ! 

JEANNETTE — Why,  I  didn't  hear  you  ask  me! 

SCRIBBLETON — Oh,  just  an  oversight,  just  an 
oversight,  I  assure  you.  And  now,  when  is  it  to 
be? 

JEANNETTE — You  must  give  me  a  little  time, 
dear, — say  in  about  six  months? 

SCRIBBLETON — Six  fiddlesticks!  Make  it  to- 
day. 

JEANNETTE — Oh,  no,  I  couldn't.  I  promised 
Max  to  pose  for  the  illustrations  for  that  book,  you 
know. 

SCRIBBLETON — Oh,  yes,  so  you  did.  Well,  after 
that,  then? 

JEANNETTE — All  right,  we'll  compromise  on 
that. 

SCRIBBLETON — Er — by  the  way,  that  book  that 
Max  is  illustrating  doesn't  require  any  pictures 
of  water-nymphs  or  Psyches,  does  it? 

JEANNETTE — (laughing,  turns  her  back  to  Scrib- 
bletori)  No,  you  goose,  it  doesn't — just  pictures 
of  an  actress. 

SCRIBBLETON — Oh,  just  pictures  of  an  actress, 
— from  whom  Psyche,  I  suppose,  could  take 
lessons.  But  a  promise  is  a  promise  and  you'll 


ACT  II  61 

have  to  fulfill  it,  but  that's  the  last  posing  you'll 
ever  do. 

JEANNETTE — Oh,  I'm  so  glad  of  that!  But 
poor  Max!  He's  terribly  worried,  isn't  he?  Do 
all  you  can  to  help  him,  Bob.  He's  been  like  a 
father  to  me. 

SCRIBBLETON — You  bet  I  will!  And  that  re- 
minds me.  Where  does  he  keep  his  lay -figures,  or 
his  stage  properties,  or  whatever  you  call  the 
paraphernalia  he  uses  as  models  for  his  pictures? 

JEANNETTE — There's  a  lay-figure  near  the  wall, 
but  most  of  the  things  of  that  kind  are  in  a  room 
here  to  the  left. 

SCRIBBLETON — Has  he  such  a  thing  as  a  stuffed 
ostrich,  or  a  large  white  bird  of  some  kind? 

JEANNETTE — I  think  he  has, — but  what  in  the 
world  prompted  a  question  of  that  kind? 

SCRIBBLETON — (joyfully)  Never  mind,  my 
dear,  never  you  mind, — just  lead  me  to  it !  lead  me 
to  it!  I  want  to  look  at  that  bird. 

(Scribbleton  catches  Jeannette  by  the  arm.) 

JEANNETTE — All  right,  come  on.  But  why 
this  sudden  interest  in  a  bird? 

SCRIBBLETON — Sudden  interest  in  a  bird?  My 
dear,  I've  been  interested  in  a  bird  ever  since  I 
met  you. 

(Exit  Jeannette  and  Scribbletcn  to  left,  laughing. 
Enter  Mrs.  Backslap  and  Angelina.) 

MRS.  BACKSLAP — Oh,  dear,  here  I've  been 
breaking  my  neck  to  arrive  on  time,  and  Mr. 


62       THE  GIRL  IN  THE  PICTURE 

Paynter  doesn't  seem  to  have  gotten  here  yet.  If 
I  were  late  he'd  charge  me  for  his  time,  but  since 
he  is  late,  I  suppose  he  thinks  it  doesn't  matter. 
Angelina,  are  you  sure  that  clock  in  the  parlor  was 
right? 

ANGELINA — Ach,  yes,  I  set  her  every  morning. 

MRS.  BACKSLAP — Do  you  set  it  by  the  clock 
on  the  steeple  at  the  corner? 

ANGELINA — Ach,  no,  she's  no  good. 

MRS.  BACKSLAP — She?  Why,  what  makes  you 
say  that? 

ANGELINA — I've  got  no  faith  in  steeple  clocks, 
no,  not  me.  T'other  day  1  walked  down  town; 
the  steeple  clock  on  the  corner  said  two  o'clock, 
the  next  steeple  clock  I  passed,  four  blocks  away, 
said  ten  minutes  after  two,  and  when  I'd  gone  a 
mile,  I  passed  another  steeple  clock  that  said 
twenty  minutes  after  two.  Those  clocks  vas  all 
different — they're  good  for  nuddings. 

MRS.  BACKSLAP — (laughing)  Well,  how  do 
you  set  the  clock,  then? 

ANGELINA — Ach,  I  set  her  by  a  rooster  that 
crows  every  morning. 

MRS.  BACKSLAP — By  a  rooster?  Of  all  things ! 
But  how  do  you  know  what  time  it  is  when  the 
rooster  crows? 

ANGELINA — She  always  crows  at  five  o'clock. 

MRS.  BACKSLAP — She?  But  how  do  you  know 
it's  five  o'clock? 

ANGELINA — She  crows  five  times. 

MRS.  BACKSLAP — Oh,  Angelina,  you  numbskull ! 
It's  no  wonder  Mr.  Paynter  isn't  here!  I  may 
be  hours  early  or  hours  late. 

ANGELINA — Ach,  it  makes  no  difference.     She 


ACT  II  63 

can  paint  your  face  as  well  one  time  as  another. 

MRS.  BACKSLAP — She  can?  But  an  engage- 
ment is  an  engagement !  And  now,  Angelina, when 
Mr.  Paynter  arrives  and  begins  my  portrait,  you 
mustn't  leave  me,  not  even  for  one  second,  do  you 
hear?  One  never  knows  what  these  artist  chaps 
may  do.  Judging  by  the  pictures  on  the  walls,  it 
wouldn't  be  altogether  proper  for  a  lady  to  re- 
main here  alone;  so  don't  you  leave  me,  Angelina, 
don't  you  dare  leave  me! 

ANGELINA — No,  no,  not  me. 

(Enter  George  Backslap  and  Miss  Blair.) 

GEORGE — Oh,  hello,  mother,  I  didn't  know  you 
were 

MRS.  BACKSLAP — (drawing  herself  up)  What! 
In  company  with  that  woman?  How  dare  you! 
How  dare  you  flaunt  her  before  my  face? 

GEORGE — Why,  mother !  What  does  it  all  mean? 

MRS.  BACKSLAP — It  means  divorce — that's 
what  it  means. 

GEORGE — Divorce?  How  can  I  get  a  divorce 
before  I'm  married? 

MRS.  BACKSLAP — You  make  a  joke  of  it?  Leave 
that  woman,  instantly! 

GEORGE — (putting  his  arm  about  his  fiancee  and 
drawing  her  close}  I'll  do  nothing  of  the  kind. 

MRS.  BACKSLAP — Then  I'll  leave !  Come  Ange- 
lina, we'll  go  over  here. 

(Mrs.  Backslap  strides  toward  door,  at  left, 
Angelina  following.) 


64        THE  GIRL  IN  THE  PICTURE 

GEORGE — But    mother,    won't    you    explain? 
MRS.  BACKSLAP — Ask  that  woman  to  explain — 
the  hussy! 

(Exit  Mrs.  Backslap,  haughtily,  to  left,  Angelina 
following  and  imitating  her  mistress's  manner.) 

Miss  BLAIR — (sobbing)  Oh,  George,  your 
mother  thinks  I  posed  for  that  dreadful  picture. 
Oh,  George,  I  never,  I  never  did  it.  Oh,  George, 
you  believe  me,  don't  you?  Oh,  George,  oh, 
George,  oh,  George! 

GEORGE — Of  course  I  believe  you,  dearest.  But 
there's  something  very  queer  about  that  picture 
and  I  mean  to  punish  the  scoundrel  who  is  re- 
sponsible for  it.  I  think  Mr.  Paynter  knows 
something  about  it,  for  when  he  saw  the  picture 
on  the  screen,  he  was  startled,  and  sang  out,  "The 
picture!  The  picture!  Oh,  I'm  ruined,  I'm 
ruined!"  and  dashed  out  of  the  house  as  fast  as 
his  legs  would  carry  him.  That  looks  as  if  he 
knew  something  about  it,  and  if  he  does,  he'll  tell 
me  what  he  knows  or  I'll  punch  his  head  for  him, 
that's  what  I'll  do. 

Miss  BLAIR — But  George,  that  picture  was  a 
photograph,  and  you  tell  me  it  was  taken  with 
your  father's  camera.  Now,  how  in  the  world 
did  your  father,  of  all  men,  come  into  possession 
of  a  photograph  like  that  of  me,  when  no  such 
photograph  was  ever  taken?  And  what  possible 
connection  can  Mr.  Paynter  have  with  it?  Why, 
Mr.  Paynter  simply  abhors  photographs. 

GEORGE — I'll  admit,  Inez,  it's  mighty  puzzling, 
but  in  these  days  of  the  moving  picture,  a  photo- 


ACT  II  65 

graph  can  be  made  to  show  anything.  The 
photograph  in  question  is  a  fake — it  was  manu- 
factured—but where?  I  believe  it  was  made 
right  here — several  things  point  that  way —  that's 
why  I  connect  Mr.  Paynter  with  it.  In  the  first 
place,  all  of  the  other  pictures  that  father  took 
were  pictures  of  churches,  taken  out  of  doors — 
the  picture  in  question  could  hardly  have  been 
taken  out  of  doors.  Then  father  came  here  with 
his  camera  and  you  say  it  was  here  he  got  tipsy. 
What  happened  after  he  got  tipsy?  He  probably 
doesn't  know  himself.  Then  he  was  sent  home 
in  a  cab  with  the  picture  in  his  camera.  Doesn't 
it  look,  then,  as  if  the  photograph  were  manufac- 
tured here?  Of  course  it  does.  I'm  almost  posi- 
tive it  was.  Mark  my  words,  Inez,  we'll  get  to 
the  bottom  of  this  outrage  to-day,  and  we'll  find 
bottom  right  here,  in  this  studio. 

Miss  BLAIR — Oh,  I  hope  we  do.  I  can't  stand 
your  mother's  scorn  much  longer. 

(Enter  Mr.  Scribbleton,  from  left.) 

SCRIBBLETON — Hello,  people,  good  morning, 
good  morning. 

Miss  BLAIR  AND  GEORGE — Good  morning,  Mr. 
Scribbleton. 

SCRIBBLETON — Is  there  anything  I  can  do  for 
you? 

GEORGE — Is  Mr.  Paynter  about?  We  should 
like  to  see  him. 

SCRIBBLETON — I'm  sorry,  he's  out  at  present. 
He  left  me  in  charge.  Can  I  be  of  any  help? 

GEORGE — I'm  afraid  not.     Our  business  is  of  a 


66         THE  GIRL  IN  THE  PICTURE 

rather  personal  nature.  Will  Mr.  Paynter  be  in 
soon? 

SCRIBBLETON — Oh,  yes — er — I  mean — er — it 
may  be  some  time  before  he  returns.  Will  you — 
er — will  you  call  again? 

GEORGE — No,  we'll  wait  for  him,  we've  simply 
got  to  see  him  this  morning. 

SCRIBBLETON — Oh, — ah, — well,  make  yourselves 
at  home,  make  yourselves  at  home.  By  the  way, 
have  you  ever  taken  a  walk  through  the  picture- 
gallery?  Mr.  Paynter  has  a  lot  of  mighty  fine 
pictures  on  view. 

GEORGE — I  don't  believe  I  have.  Shall  we  take 
a  look  at  them,  Inez,  while  we're  waiting? 

Miss  BLAIR — Yes,  indeed,  I'd  like  to. 

SCRIBBLETON — You'll  find  the  finest  of  them 
over  there  to  the  right. 

GEORGE — Thank  you,  you're  very  kind,  we'll 
see  you  later. 

(Exit  Miss  Blair  and  George  to  right.} 

SCRIBBLETON  Max  was  right.  The  lady  is 
on  the  job  and  is  evidently  going  to  start  some- 
thing. Poor  Max!  They'll  make  it  hot  for  him 
when  he  comes  home. 

(Enter  four  members  of  the  Lily-white  Society 
for  the  Suppression  of  Sin,  namely:  Mrs.  Gray, 
Mrs.  Brown,  Mrs.  Black  and  Mrs.  Green.} 

SCRIBBLETON — How  do  you  do,  ladies. 
MRS.    GRAY,   BROWN,    BLACK   AND   GREEN — 
How  do  you  do. 


ACT  II  67 

SCRIBBLETON — Have  you  quite  recovered  from 
your  fainting  spells? 

MRS.  BROWN — Oh,  wasn't  it  horrible? 

SCRIBBLETON — Horrible?     What  was  horrible? 

MRS.  BROWN — The  picture.  And  that's  why 
we're  here  this  morning. 

SCRIBBLETON — Indeed?  Why,  were  your  pic- 
tures taken  in  the  same  way? 

MRS.  BROWN,  GRAY,  BLACK  AND  GREEN — Oh, 
horrors,  no! 

SCRIBBLETON — Then  what  is  the  connection 
between  the  picture  and  your  being  here? 

MRS.  BLACK — Why,  we  understood  the  picture 
was  taken  here. 

SCRIBBLETON — I'm  still  in  the  dark,  ladies; 
more  light,  please. 

MRS.  GRAY — How  dense  you  are!  Don't  you 
know  that  we  are  members  of  the  Lily-white 
Society  for  the  Suppression  of  Sin? 

SCRIBBLETON — I  wouldn't  put  it  past  you,  in- 
deed I  wouldn't.  But  even  at  that,  I  couldn't 
be  expected  to  go  into  raptures  over  the  amount 
of  light  you  have  shed  on  your  reason  for  coming 
here. 

MRS.  BROWN — Don't  you  know  that  we  are  con- 
ducting an  anti-indecent  picture  crusade? 

SCRIBBLETON — Oh,  ho,  is  that  so? 

MRS.  BROWN — We  thought  if  the  picture  in 
question  were  made  here,  that  this  might  be  a 
good  field  for  us*  to  investigate.  Do  you  under- 
stand now? 

SCRIBBLETON — Well,  I  should  say  I  do!  So 
you've  come  to  view  the  pictures,  have  you? 


68       THE  GIRL  IN  THE  PICTURE 

(aside)  Oh,  Lord,  here's  more  trouble  for  poor 
Max! 

MRS.  GRAY — Yes,  we've  come  to  view  the  pic- 
tures, and  if  we  find  any  that  couldn't  be  hung  in  a 
Sunday  School,  well — there's  going  to  be  trouble, 
that's  all. 

SCRIBBLETON — (aside}  I  can  see  Trouble  now, 
sitting  in  an  automobile,  whizzing  along  ninety 
miles  an  hour  and  headed  for  this  spot. 

(The  ladies  examine  the  pictures  on  the  walls, 
viewing  them  through  lorgnettes.) 

MRS.  BROWN — Oh,  these  pictures  are  dreadful! 

MRS.  GRAY  AND  MRS.  GREEN — Shocking! 
Shocking! 

MRS.  BLACK — They  are  positively  bad ! 

SCRIBBLETON — Ladies,  you  surprise  me!  Mr. 
Paynter  is  a  clever  artist,  and  his  pictures  are  con- 
sidered very  good. 

MRS.  GRAY — We  are  not  criticizing  them  from 
an  artistic  standpoint. 

SCRIBBLETON — No?  From  what  standpoint, 
pray? 

MRS.  GRAY — From  a  moral  standpoint. 

SCRIBBLETON — Oh,  I  suppose  you  think  that 
the  ladies  in  the  pictures  are  not  sufficiently— er — 
not  sufficiently  upholstered? 

MRS.  BLACK — Such  pictures  are  shameful, 
shameful,  sir! 

SCRIBBLETON — But  what  would  you  have  the 
poor  artist  do?  As  you  will  note,  this  picture, 
for  instance,  represents  a  bathing-girl.  Surely 
you  wouldn't  have  the  artist  paint  a  lady  going  in 


ACT  II  69 

to  bathe  in  a  street  gown,  would  you?  A  bath 
isn't  taken  that  way.  For  my  part,  from  a  hy- 
gienic standpoint — that  is,  if  the  lady  wishes  a  good 
wash — I  think  she's  overdressed. 

MRS.  BLACK,  BROWN,  GREEN  AND  GRAY — Oh, 
horrors ! 

SCRIBBLETON — Now  take  this  picture,  for  ex- 
ample. Here's  a  dancing-girl.  You  know  your- 
selves that  dancing-girls  dress  exactly  like  that. 
Why,  I've  seen  some  that  didn't — but  never  mind, 
never  mind !  It  isn't  the  artist's  fault  if  they  dis- 
like harness.  He's  got  to  paint  true  to  life,  hasn't 
he?  If  he  doesn't,  he's  laughed  at.  So  what 
would  you?  As  between  you  and  the  critics,  he's 
between  the  she-devils  and  the  deep  sea. 

MRS.  BLACK,  BROWN,  GREEN  AND  GRAY — She- 
devils? 

SCRIBBLETON — Sea-devils,  s-e-a,  ocean-devils, 
— er — ocean  nymphs,  mermaids,  you  know.  But 
honestly,  now,  you  don't  think  these  pictures 
really  bad,  do  you? 

MRS.  BROWN — Anything  is  bad  that  is  harmful. 

SCRIBBLETON — Harmful?    To  whom? 

MRS.  BROWN — To  the  young. 

SCRIBBLETON — Then  don't  be  alarmed,  ladies, 
I'm  the  only  one  in  danger,  but  I'll  risk  it. 

MRS.  BLACK,  BROWN,  GREEN  AND  GRAY — Oh, 
you  horrid  man! 

SCRIBBLETON — But  these  pictures  are  mere 
outlines,  mere  sketches,  don't  you  know.  If  you 
want  to  see  genuine  pictures,  take  a  look  at  the 
finished  ones  in  the  gallery  to  the  right.  There 
are  some  real  works  of  art  in  there. 


70       THE  GIRL  IN  THE  PICTURE 

MRS.  BLACK — Come  on,  ladies,  the  more  evi- 
dence we  get  against  this  place  the  better. 

(Exit  the  ladies  to  the  right.) 

SCRIBBLETON — Good  heavens,  do  they  intend 
to  raid  this  place?  Poor  Max!  If  he  knew  how 
things  were  going,  he  wouldn't  think  me  a  shining 
success  in  staving  off  trouble.  But  wrait.  I 
haven't  had  a  good  shot  at  the  situation  yet. 
Heigh-ho,  what's  all  this? 

(Enter  two  porters,  carrying  a  big  camera.) 

ONE  OF  THE  PORTERS — Where  shall  we  put 
it,  boss? 

SCRIBBLETON — Let's  see,  Max  will  need  it  here. 
Put  it  over  here,  boys.  (Indicates  point  near  cen- 
tre of  room.  The  porters  do  as  directed  and  leave.) 
Max  ought  to  be  home  soon.  In  the  meantime  I 
think  I'll  take  another  look  at  that  bird. 

(Exit  Scribbleton  to  left.  Enter  George  Backslap 
and  Inez  from  right.) 

GEORGE — (spying  the  camera)  Ha,  ha!  Look 
what's  here ! 

Miss  BLAIR — Why  it's  a  camera,  isn't  it? 

GEORGE — So  Mr.  Paynter  abhors  photographs, 
does  he?  What's  he  doing  with  this,  then? 
Manufacturing  more  spurious  photographs,  eh? 

Miss  BLAIR — It  certainly  looks   like  a  clue. 

GEORGE — Looks  like  it? — I  know  it  is.  Let's 
stick  around.  We  may  find  out  something  more. 


ACT  II  71 

Miss  BLAIR — Suppose  we  go  into  the  gallery 
again. 

GEORGE — Good!    Come  on. 

(Exit  Miss  Blair  and  George  to  right.  Enter 
Deacon  Backslap  from  rear.) 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — (spying  the  camera)  By 
George!  Look  at  that  camera!  That  certainly 
looks  suspicious.  I'm  glad  I  came  back.  Maybe 
I'll  find  out  something.  There's  surely  some- 
thing fishy  about  all  this  business.  Mr.  Paynter 
overshot  the  mark  when  he  told  me  that  I  was 
sober  when  I  took  that  picture.  There's  such  a 
thing  as  proving  too  much.  No,  no,  I  never  did 
it  when  I  was  sober.  And  if  they  made  up  one 
lie  about  me,  the  whole  thing  may  be  a  lie.  By 
gum,  I'll  just  hang  around  and  see  what  goes  on. 
I'd  like  to  know  what  they  do  with  that  camera. 
I  wonder  where  I  can  hide?  (Here  the  deacon 
peers  about  him  for  a  hiding  place,  and  finally 
catches  sight  of  the  lay-figure  resting  against  the  wall 
with  a  black  blanket  partly  covering  it)  Ah,  I've 
an  idea!  Here's  the  very  thing.  (The  deacon 
carries  the  dummy  to  the  wings,  and,  returning,  sits 
down  on  the  floor  with  his  back  against  the  wall  and 
picks  up  the  blanket.  As  he  does  so,  Scribbleton, 
unknown  to  the  deacon,  enters  from  the  left,  and,  see- 
ing the  deacon,  glides  behind  a  curtain,  where  he 
watches  the  deacon.)  I'll  pull  this  blanket  up 
over  my  head  and  then  they'll  think  I'm  the  lay- 
figure.  It's  taking  some  chances,  but  I'm  about 
as  reckless  now  as  they  make  'em. 


72        THE  GIRL  IN  THE  PICTURE 

(Here  the  deacon  pulls  the  blanket  over  his  head 
and  remains  quiet.  Scribbleton  walks  boldly  to  the 
center  of  the  room,  and,  observing  that  the  blanket  is 
well  over  the  deacon's  head,  slaps  his  leg  and  grimaces ; 
then  he  walks  over  to  where  the  deacon  is  sitting  and 
deliberately  trips  over  the  deacon's  legs.) 

SCHIBBLETON — Oh,  damn  that  dummy!  It's 
forever  in  the  way.  I'll  break  my  neck  on  it  next. 

(Here  Scribbleton  gives  the  deacon  a  sharp  kick  on 
the  legs  and  walks  to  the  front  of  the  stage,  grinning. 
The  deacon  peers  out  from  the  blanket,  and,  seeing 
that  Scribbleton' s  back  is  turned,  reaches  down  and 
rubs  his  legs,  drawing  suddenly  under  cover  again 
as  Scribbleton  turns,  at  the  sound  of  footsteps  from 
the  rear,  to  greet  Max  Paynter,  who  enters  at  this 
moment.) 

SCRIBBLETON — Hello,  Max,  did  you  get  all  the 
things  you  needed?  The  camera  arrived  before 
you  did. 

PAYNTER — Oh,  yes,  I've  got  everything  now. 
But  say,  Bob,  did  anything  happen  while  I  was 
away? 

(Here  the  deacon  peeps  from  under  the  blanket 
and  covers  up  again.) 

SCRIBBLETON — Oh,  nothing  very  much  hap- 
pened. But  there  are  a  few  people  in  the  other 
room  who  would  like  to  see  you  on  rather  par- 
ticular business.  But  don't  let  them  bother  you. 
Remember,  refer  them  to  me. 

PAYNTER — Did  the  young  lady  put  in  an  ap- 
pearance? 


ACT  II  73 

SCRIBBLETON — Oh,  yes,  and  her  fiance,  too. 
They're  waiting  for  you.  But  don't  worry. 
Everything's  all  right.  They  didn't  bring  a  horse- 
whip, but  I've  no  doubt  they've  got  a  pistol  or  two. 

PAYNTER — Lord  forbid !  Did  Deacon  Backslap 
return? 

SCRIBBLETON — (grinning)  Well — er — not  so 
you  would  notice  it.  He's  probably  lying  around 
somewhere  sleeping  off  another  jag.  No  doubt 
he'll  make  his  appearance  later.  But  say,  Max, 
do  me  a  favor,  will  you? 

PAYNTER — What  is  it,  Bob? 

SCRIBBLETON — Those  illustrations  you  spoke 
about  painting,  you  know? 

PAYNTER — Yes  ? 

SCRIBBLETON — For  the  love  of  Heaven  paint 
all  of  them  in  the  next  twenty-four  hours,  will  you? 

PAYNTER — Why,  what's  the  hurry? 

SCRIBBLETON — I'm  in  an  awful  rush. 

PAYNTER — You  are? 

SCRIBBLETON — Sure  I  am. 

PAYNTER — Why,  how  do  they  concern  you? 

SCRIBBLETON — Well,  it's  this  way :  The  longer 
you  take  to  paint  those  pictures,  the  longer  you 
will  keep  Jeannette  from  entering  into  matri- 
mony— with  me. 

PAYNTER — Oh,  (laughing)  so  that's  it,  is  it? 
(seizing  Bob's  hftnd)  Congratulations,  old  man. 
You're  getting  a  peach. 

SCRIBBLETON — Well,  I  should  say!  Yes,  Jean- 
nette's  promised  to  marry  me  as  soon  as  those 
pictures  are  finished.  So  hurry  up,  Max.  Can't 
you  finish  'em  to-day? 

PAYNTER — (laughing)     My,  you're  just  as  much 


74       THE  GIRL  IN  THE  PICTURE 

in  a  hurry  to  get  married  as  some  people  are  to  get 
divorced!  Sure  I'll  hurry.  Help  me  a  little, 
Bob,  and  I'll  start  in  on  them  right  away. 

SCRIBBLETON — Good !  What  do  you  want  done? 

PAYNTER — Take  hold  of  one  end  of  this  couch 
and  help  me  carry  it.  (They  carry  the  couch  to  the 
right  of  the  centre  of  the  room  and  about  fifteen  feet 
away  from  the  camera.)  There,  that's  about  right. 
Now  help  me  place  this  covered  picture  behind 
the  couch  to  form  a  back-ground.  There,  that's 
O.K.  Now  go  and  fetch  Jeannette  while  I  get 
my  canvas  ready. 

(Exit  Scribbleton  to  left.  Paynter  brings  an  easel, 
on  which  is  a  blank  canvas,  from  one  side  of  the 
room,  and  places  it  slightly  to  the  right  of  the  couch, 
but  nearer  the  foot-lights.  Enter  Scribbleton  and 
Jeannette  with  their  arms  about  each  other  and 
looking  very  happy.  Jeannette  still  wears  the  pink 
silk  kimona.  Paynter  grasps  her  hand.) 

PAYNTER — I'm  so  glad,  Jeannette,  to  hear  of 
your  engagement.  I'm  sure  I  hope  you  will  be 
very  happy. 

JEANNETTE — Thank  you,  Max. 

PAYNTER — (raising  his  hands  over  them)  Bless 
you,  my  children! 

SCRIBBLETON — For  goodness  sake,  Max,  get  to 
work  and  start  those  pictures ! 

PAYNTER — (laughing)  I  never  did  see  such 
impatience!  Just  a  moment,  now,  until  I  ex- 
plain the  pose  to  Jeannette,  and  then  I'll  start. 
Now,  Jeannette,  you  are  supposed,  you  know,  to 
be  an  actress,  and  the  first  illustration  will  depict 


ACT  II  75 

a  scene  at  the  photographer's  where  you  are  having 
your  picture  taken  in  costume.  Sit  down  on  the 
couch  a  moment  and  look  at  the  camera,  I  want 
to  point  it  at  you  just  as  if  you  were  really  being 
photographed.  (Jeannette  sits  down  on  the  couch 
and  Paynter,  removing  the  cap  from  the  lens,  looks 
through  the  camera  and  adjusts  it,  and  replaces  the 
cap.)  There,  that's  all  right.  Now  for  the  pho- 
tographer. Let's  see,  (glances  toward  rear  of  studio) 
that  dummy  back  there  will  do.  Get  that  dummy 
Bob,  and  stand  it  up  behind  the  camera  just  as  if 
it  were  a  real  live  photographer. 

SCBIBBLETON — (grinning)  Bully !  I  can  do  that 
all  right! 

(The  "lay-figure"  slides  limply  to  the  floor. 
Scribbleton  grabs  "it,"  and,  keeping  the  cover  over 
"its"  head,  raises  and  carries  "it"  with  some 
difficulty  to  the  rear  of  the  camera,  where  he  stands 
"it"  on  "its"  feet,  pushes  "its"  head  down  in  a 
stooping  position  in  no  gentle  manner,  throwing 
part  of  the  blanket  deftly  over  the  camera,  but  keep- 
ing most  of  it  over  the  head  of  the  "dummy"  in  the 
manner  of  a  photographer  who  is  focusing  his  camera, 
then  he  adjusts  the  "dummy's"  hands,  placing 
them  on  the  tripod.) 

SCRIBBLETON — How's  that,  Max? 

PAYNTER — (laughing)  If  that  isn't  a  hot  look- 
ing photographer!  Look  at  his  legs!  He's  weak 
in  the  knees  and  his  back's  caving  in!  Puts  me 
in  mind  of  an  old  plug.  Stiffen  his  pins  a  little, 
Bob,  and  make  him  look  like  a  real  live  un ! 


76       THE  GIRL  IN  THE  PICTURE 

SCRIBBLETON — A  real  live  iin,  eh?  Oh,  I'll 
put  some  life  into  him  all  right! 

(Scribbleton  grabs  the  "dummy"  and  jerks  "it" 
into  a  more  upright  position.  The  "dummy" 
sags  again.  Scribbleton  kicks  "it"  on  the  shins 
and  jerks  "it"  into  position  again.) 

SCRIBBLETON — Maybe  you'll  stay  put  now,  eh? 
(This  time  the  "dummy"  "stays  put.") 

PAYNTER — Ah,  that's  better.  Now,  Jeannette, 
remove  your  kimona. 

(Rising,  Jeannette  does  as  requested,  revealing 
her  trim  figure  in  the  exceedingly  scanty  costume  of  an 
oriental  dancer.  Throwing  the  kimona  on  a  chair 
at  some  distance,  she  sits  down  again  on  the  couch 
and  assumes  a  very  fetching  attitude.} 

SCRIBBLETON — So  that's  the  actress  who  is 
having  her  picture  taken  in  costume,  eh? 

PAYNTER — Exactly.  Doesn't  she  make  a  pretty 
picture? 

SCRIBBLETON — It's  just  as  I  told  her.  She 
could  give  Psyche  cards  and  spades. 

JEANNETTE — Oh,  you!     (Makes  a  face  at  him.} 

PAYNTER — Now  let  me  see.  Everything's  all 
right  now  except  one  thing.  Do  you  notice  it? 

SCRIBBLETON — No,  what  is  it? 

PAYNTER — Why,  don't  you  see,  the  photog- 
rapher is  focusing  his  camera.  He  couldn't  do 
that  with  the  cap  over  the  lens.  Take  the  cap 
off,  please. 

SCRIBBLETON — (glancing  dubiously  at  the  "dum- 


ACT  II  77 

my")     Oh,  let  it  stay  on,  what's  the  difference? 

PAYNTEB — Every  detail  must  be  correct,  you 
know.  Take  it  off,  please. 

SCRIBBLETON — Oh,  all  right,  if  you  insist. 

(Scribbleton  reluctantly  takes  the  cap  from  the  lens 
of  the  camera.  Instantly  the  "dummy"  throws 
"  its  "  hands  in  the  air  and  drops  to  the  floor  in  a  heap 
the  cover  falling  with  "it"  and  remaining  over  "its" 
head.) 

PAYNTER — Oh,  fiddlesticks! 
JEANNETTE — (laughing)     I  believe  that  dummy 
was  shocked. 

SCRIBBLETON — I  know  darn  well  it  was  shocked. 

(Scribbleton  lifts  the  "dummy"  and  puts  "it"  in 
position  again,  kicking  "it"  a  couple  of  times  as  he 
does  so.  As  Scribbleton  takes  his  hands  away,  the 
"dummy"  sways  unsteadily,  and  appears  ready  to 
drop  again.) 

PAYNTER — (petulantly)  If  that  dummy  falls 
again,  get  a  hammer  and  nail  its  feet  to  the  floor. 

(The  "dummy"  immediately  appears  to  pull 
itself  together.  Scribbleton  laughs  and  slaps  his 
leg.) 

PAYNTER — Well,  I  think  we're  all  ready  now. 
Let's  see,  where  are  my  crayons?  (Looks  about 
him)  Where  in  thunder  did  I  put  my  crayons? 

JEANNETTE — Perhaps  you  left  them  in  the  other 
room. 


78       THE  GIRL  IN  THE  PICTURE 

PAYNTER— I'll  bet  that's  what  I  did.  Hold 
that  pose,  please,  Jeannette,  until  I  get  them. 
I'll  be  back  in  a  minute. 

(Exit  Paynter  to  right.  Scribbleton  immediately 
puts  the  cap  over  the  lens  of  the  camera.) 

JEANNETTE — Why,  what  in  the  world  did  you 
do  that  for? 

SCRIBBLETON — I  never  like  to  see  anyone  hog 
the  whole  show. 

JEANNETTE — One  might  think  you  were  jealous 
of  that  old  dummy. 

SCRIBBLETON — It's  a  good  thing  for  the  dummy 
that  it  is  old. 

JEANNETTE — What  strange  talk ! 

(Enter  Mrs.  Backslap,  followed  by  Angelina  and 
the  four  Crusaders.  Mrs.  Backslap  catches  sight  of 
the  dummy  photographer  and  screams.) 

MRS.  BACKSLAP — Oh,  there's  my  husband! 

(Mrs.  Backslap  grabs  the  black  cloth  and  jerks 
it  from  the  "dummy's"  head;  the  "dummy"  throws 
up  "its"  hands  and  staggers  back  aghast.) 

MRS.  BACKSLAP — Oh,  you  villain !  (  Then  rushes 
toward  Jeannette)  Oh,  you  hussy,  I'll  tear  you  to 
pieces ! 


(Jeannette  screams  and  George  Backslap  and 
Miss  Blair  come  rushing  in.  Jeannette  seizes  the 
cover  on  the  picture  back  of  her,  and  throwing  it 


ACT  H  79 

about  her,  runs  screaming  from  the  room.  Mr. 
Paynter  enters  on  the  run.  George  BacJcslap  and 
Miss  Blair  catch  sight  of  the  uncovered  picture,  so 
does  Paynter.) 

GEORGE  AND  Miss  BLAIR — Look!  Look!  The 
picture!  The  picture! 

PAYNTER — (shrinking  back)  My  God,  I'm 
undone ! 

MRS.  BACKSLAP — -(to  her  husband)  You  lasciv- 
ious wretch!  I've  caught  you  in  the  very  act! 

GEORGE — -(to  Paynter)  You  damnable  scoun- 
drel! How  did  you  come  by  that  painting? 

PAYNTER — I — I.    Say  Bob, 

MRS.  BACKSLAP — (to  her  husband)     How  dare 
you  take  a  picture  of  a  creature  like  that?    Have 
you  gone  crazy  entirely?    Have  you  lost  all  sense 
of  decency? 
•    DEACON  BACKSLAP — I — I 

Miss  BLAIR — (to  Paynter)  How  dare  you 
paint  a  picture  of  me  like  that? 

MRS.  BACKSLAP — (to  her  husband)  What  have 
you  got  to  say  for  yourself,  you  libertine? 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — I — I 

MRS.  BACKSLAP — (stamping  her  foot)  Silence, 
sir! 

GEORGE — (to  Paynter)  Out  with  it,  damn  you ! 
What  made  you  paint  a  picture  of  Miss  Blair, 
like  that? 

MRS.  BACKSLAP — (shaking  her  fist  under  her 
husband's  nose)  You  gray-haired,  double-faced 
Turk !  Is  this  your  harem  ? 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — Oh,  my  God! 

GEORGE — {to      Paynter)      You      contemptible 


80       THE  GIRL  IN  THE  PICTURE 

sneak!    You  snake!    Damn  you,     I'll  smash  your 
peanut  noodle! 

(George  rushes  toward  Paynter;  Scribbleton 
grabs  him  and  holds  him  back.) 

PAYNTER — (starting  angrily  toward  George) 
What's  that?  My  peanut  noodle? 

(Miss  Blair  screams  and  jumps  in  between.) 

MRS.  BACKSLAP — (grabbing  her  husband  by  the 
throat)  You  skinny  old  rip,  I  hate  you,  I  hate 
you,  I  hate  you! 

(Enter  Mrs.  Blair.) 

MRS.  BLAIR — (amazed)  Good  gracious,  what's 
all  this?  (Notices  the  painting,  screams  and  staggers 
back  into  the  arms  of  Angelina.)  Oh,  Inez,  oh, 
Inez,  how  could  you? 

ANGELINA — Ach,  if  I  knew  vat  vas  the  fight 
about,  I'd  hit  somedings. 

GEORGE — (to  Paynter)  You  villainous,  crawl- 
ing, slimy,  degenerate  paint  swab !  You  ought  to 
be  ashamed  of  yourself!  You're  a  disgrace  to 
your  profession!  By  God,  I'll  have  your  blood! 

(Scribbleton  still  holds  him  back.) 

MRS.  BACKSLAP — (to   her  husband)     You  old 

reprobate,  you  back-stairs  devil,  you — you ! 

SCRIBBLETON — Order!    Order! 


ACT  II  81 

GEORGE — (shaking  his  fist  at  Paynter)  You 
low  down,  cowardly  skunk,  you — you 

PAYNTER — For  goodness  sake,  Bob,  say  some- 
thing, say  something! 

SCRIBBLETON — How    can    I?     Order!    Order! 

GEORGE — (to  Paynter)  You  infamous  scalawag, 
you  miserable  cur! 

MRS.  BACKSLAP — (to  her  husband)  Oh,  had  I 
known  what  you  were,  I'd  have  left  you  long  ago ! 
You  vile,  wicked  thing,  you  low  brute !  You 

SCRIBBLETON — Order!    Order! 

GEORGE — Answer  me,  damn  you.  Why  did 
you  paint  that  picture?  Out  with  it,  you  phi- 
head! 

MRS.  BACKSLAP — (to  her  husband)  Shame  on 
you!  A  man  of  your  age !  Shame!  Shame! 

SCRIBBLETON — (roaring  at  the  top  of  his  voice) 
For  the  love  of  Heaven,  order,  order!  Give  me 
the  floor,  will  you?  Order,  please!  I'd  like  to 
say  something  about  this  picture,  and  after  that 
you  can  fly  at  each  other's  throat  if  you  wish  to, 

but  listen  just  a  moment. Now,  in  the  first 

place:  How  was  it  that  Deacon  Josiah  Backslap 
went  home  with  the  photograph  of  a  scantily 
draped  woman  in  his  camera?  The  answer  is 
simple, — I  put  it  there. 

EVERYBODY — (in  chorus)     You  did? 

SCRIBBLETON — Sure  I  did,  but  not  intentionally. 
It  was  like  this :  The  deacon's  got  a  kodak  that's 
exactly  like  mine,  and  yesterday  he  left  it  in  the 
studio,  and  I  mistook  it  for  my  own  and  took  a 
photograph  of  that  picture  with  it.  When  the 
deacon  went  home  he  took  his  camera  with  him 


82       THE  GIRL  IN  THE  PICTURE 

and  of  course  the  picture  was  on  the  film.  That's 
all  there  is  to  it. 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — Well  I'll  be  gosh-diddled ! 
There,  Mirandy,  I  told  you  I  was  innocent,  didn't 
I? 

MRS.  BACKSLAP — Not  so  fast,  Josiah  Backslap, 
not  so  fast.  Didn't  I  see  you  taking  the  photo- 
graph of  a  dreadful  woman  not  five  minutes  ago? 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — Er — ah — ah — no — I  was- 
n't— I  slipped  in  here  and  let  on  I  was  a  lay -figure, 
hoping  I  might  discover  how  the  picture  got  in 
my  camera.  And  they  thought  I  was  a  lay- 
figure  and  stood  me  up  behind  that  camera  to 
represent  a  photographer — — 

MRS.  BACKSLAP — Josiah  Backslap,  if  you  were 
a  decent  man,  how  could  you  stand  there  looking 
through  the  camera  at  that  dreadful  woman? 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — Why — er — er 

SCRIBBLETON — He  couldn't  see  anything, 
madam.  See,  the  cap  is  over  the  lens. 

MRS.  BACKSLAP — (suspiciously)  Was  it  on  there 
all  of  the  time? 

SCRIBBLETON — Sure  it  was,  wasn't  it,  Deacon? 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — Why — er — er — you  could 
see  it  better  than  I  could,  the  cloth  was  over  my 
head,  you  know. 

MRS.  BACKSLAP — Oh,  my  dear,  dear  husband! 
How  shamefully  I  have  misjudged  you!  (Throws 
her  arms  about  the  deacon  s  neck)  You're  a  good, 
good  man,  after  all.  Please  forgive  me. 

GEORGE — All  of  this  is  very  interesting,  Mr. 
Scribbleton,  but  it  doesn't  explain  why  this  out- 
rageous painting  was  perpetrated, — Miss  Blair, 
sir,  never  posed  for  it. 


ACT  II  83 

SCRIBBLETON — No,  she  didn't  pose  for  it,  but 
it's  a  portrait  of  Miss  Blair  all  the  same. 

PAYNTER — -(dismayed)     Bob !    Bob ! 

GEORGE — Ha,  you  admit  it!  And  that  devil 
(pointing  to  Paynter)  painted  it,  eh? 

SCRIBBLETON — Sure  he  did. 

PAYNTER — (amazpd)     For  God's  sake,  Bob ! 

GEORGE — What  right  had  he  to  paint  such  a 
picture?  It's  outrageous !  I'll  have  him  arrested ! 
No,  by  the  Eternal,  I'll  break  every  bone  in  his 
body! 

SCRIBBLETON — (holding  George  back)  Just  a 
moment,  now,  just  a  moment.  It  wasn't  the 
right  thing  to  do,  that's  a  fact.  But  listen :  Max 
wanted  to  paint  a  picture  such  as  you  see,  and  he 
needed  a  model  for  it  who  had  a  spirituelle  face. 
The  only  person  he  knew  who  had  that  kind  of  a 
face  was  Miss  Blair,  but  he  didn't  like  to  ask  her 
to  pose  for  him,  so  he  got  another  model  to  pose 
for  the  body,  and,  as  Miss  Blair  was  having  him 
paint  her  portrait,  he  copied  the  face  from  her 
portrait.  It  was  done  without  her  knowledge, 
and  I  must  say  it  was  a  damnable  thing  to  do! 

GEORGE — Atrocious ! 

MRS.  BLAIR — Criminal! 

PAYNTER — (aghast)  (to  Scribbleton)  You're 
making  a  pretty  mess  of  it,  aren't  you?  You 
cheese-head ! 

SCRIBBLETON — (taking  no  notice)  Yes,  it  was 
damnable,  it  was  atrocious,  it  was  criminal.  He 
ought  to  be  horse-whipped  within  an  inch  of  his 
life! 

GEORGE — Yes,  and  I'll  do  it,  too ! 

MRS.  BLAIR — The  scoundrel,  he  deserves  it! 


84       THE  GIRL  IN  THE  PICTURE 

PAYNTER — (shaking  his  fist  at  Scribbleton)  You 
backslider ! 

SCRIBBLETON — (taking  no  notice)  Yes,  by  the 
Eternal,  he  does  deserve  it,  and  more,  he  ought  to 
be  hamstrung!  Think  of  it,  think  of  the  low- 
down,  cussed  meanness  of  it,  to  paint  a  picture 
ladies  and  gentlemen,  a  picture  that  is  destined  to 
be  considered  one  of  the  most  beautiful  pictures 
in  the  world,  and  think  how  damnably  atrocious 
it  was  not  to  let  Miss  Blair  know  that  she  had 
been  done  the  honor,  the  great  honor,  of  having  her 
face  used  as  a  model  for  the  picture. 

GEORGE,  INEZ  AND  MRS.  BLAIR — What's  that? 
The  honor? 

SCRIBBLETON — Yes,  honor,  the  great  honor.  Let 
me  prove  it  to  you.  Look  at  the  picture.  In  its 
present  state  it  seems  a  little — er — a  little  daring, 
doesn't  it?  But  it  isn't  finished,  my  dear  good 
people,  it  isn't  nearly  finished.  Let  me  show  you 
how  it  will  look  when  it's  done.  But  remember 
one  thing,  what  I  will  show  you  is  only  a  very  poor 
imitation  of  the  complete  picture.  Jeannette, 
Jeannette,  (calls  in  direction  of  adjoining  room) 
tell  the  porters  to  bring  in  the  bird. 

(Enter  two  porters,  each  bearing  a  huge,  white 
wing,  followed  by  Jeannette,  who  is  now  prettily 
gowned.) 

SCRIBBLETON — Show  the  men,  please,  Jeannette, 
where  to  put  the  wings. 

(Under  the  direction  of  Jeannette,  one  wing  is 
affixed  to  the  left  shoulder  of  the  lady  in  the  painting, 


ACT  II  85 

and  the  other  icing  to  the  right  shoulder,  in  such  a 
manner  that  when  the  porters  withdraw,  and  a  clear 
view  of  the  picture  is  obtained,  it  is  instantly  seen 
that  the  painted  lady  has  been  transformed  into  a 
beautiful  angel.  Instantly  the  picture  creates  a 
sensation.) 

SCRIBBLETON — (jubilant)  There!  What  did 
I  tell  you?  Was  it  not  an  honor  to  be  chosen  as 
the  model  for  a  picture  like  that?  Is  it  not  a  most 
beautiful  picture?  Is  it  not  a  masterpiece?  Could 
it  have  been  painted  by  anyone  except  a  great 
artist?  And  aside  from  that,  is  there  one  among 
you  who  is  so  base  that  he  could  find  fault  with 
it  from  the  standpoint  of  morality?  Is  there  any- 
thing low,  is  there  anything  vicious,  is  there  any- 
thing indecent  about  it?  Can  you  conceive  of 
anything  purer  than  an  angel?  Therefore,  my 
dear  friends,  the  lady  who  was  so  honored,  so 
signally  honored,  to  be  chosen  as  a  model  for  that 
angel's  face,  should  go  down  on  her  knees  and  offer 
up  thanks  for  the  good  fortune  that  has  befallen 
her. 

(During  the  recital  of  this  speech,  Paynter  throws 
out  his  chest  and  puts  on  a  good  deal  of  dignity, 
assuming  the  air  of  a  great  man  who  has  been  woe- 
fully injured  and  misunderstood.  As  Scribbleton 
finishes,  Paynter  grasps  his  hand.  Everybody 
then  crowds  about  the  artist.) 

GEORGE — (offering  his  hand  to  Paynter)  My 
dear  sir,  I  have  wronged  you,  cruelly,  cruelly 
wronged  you!  But  I  did  not  understand.  Do 


86       THE  GIRL  IN  THE  PICTURE 

not  think  me  ungrateful.  I  realize  now  what  an 
honor  you  have  bestowed  on  my  little  sweetheart, 
and  I'm  sure  she  appreciates  it,  too. 

Miss  BLAIR — Oh,  indeed  I  do!  You  were 
very,  very  good  to  select  my  face  for  such  a  pic- 
ture. Please  forgive  me,  too. 

MRS.  BLAIR — What  a  dear  man  you  were  to 
have  chosen  my  daughter!  I  hope  you  will  for- 
give us  all. 

PAYNTER — (smiling  at  everybody  most  graciously, 
and  still  with  his  chest  puffed  out)  You  overwhelm 
me!  Oh,  I  could  suffer  much,  much  more,  if  but 
to  obtain  a  moment  like  this !  Indeed  I  shall  for- 
give you,  with  all  my  heart.  Bob,  I  think  that 
you,  at  least,  will  agree  with  me  when  I  say  that 
it  is  not  best  for  a  man  that  the  truth  should  al- 
ways be  known. 

MRS.  BLACK — (pointing  to  the  pictures  on  the 
wall)     But  what  about  those  pictures? 

SCRIBBLETON — Oh,  don't  worry,  ladies,  don't 
worry.  When  they're  finished,  those  on  the  right 
will  be  cherubim,  and  those  on  the  left,  seraphim. 

MRS.  BACKSLAP — (holding  out  her  arms  to  Inez) 
My  dear,  sweet  child,  how  I've  wronged  you,  too ! 
Please  forgive  me.  (Inez  rushes  to  her  arms)  But 
why  in  the  world,  child,  did  you  say  that  my 
husband  took  your  picture  in  this  studio? 

Miss  BLAIR — (disengaging  herself,  goes  over  to 
the  deacon  and  takes  a  photograph  from  his  breast 
pocket,  much  to  that  gentleman's  surprise)  There's 
the  photograph  that  he  took. 

MRS.  BACKSLAP — Why,  Josiah,  why  didn't  you 
say  something  about  it? 

DEACON  BACKSLAP — Why,  I  certainly  would  if 


ACT  II  87 

I'd    known    about — er — er — if    I'd   known — er — 
how  to  get  a  word  in  edgeways. 

MRS.  BACKSLAP — (putting  her  arms  about  her 
husband's  neck)  My  poor,  dear  husband,  what  a 
martyr  you've  been! 

(Scribbleton  puts  his  arm  about  Jeannette's  waist; 
George  Backslap  embraces  Inez.) 

SCRIBBLETON — And  now  that  everybody's  hap- 
py, I  wish  to  announce  that  Jeannette  and  I  are 
going  to  be  married  to-morrow,  here  in  front  of 
the  painted  angel,  and  you're  all  invited — to  do 
the  same ! 

(CURTAIN) 


A     000  055  778     5 


